Red Days
by Tyrus Martin
Summary: Completely OC. Same Dresden universe, different Dresden story. Starts out with the basic plot of the first bit of Cold Days, specifically the Winter party, but then moves into a plot of my own imagining that slams together a whole bunch of different elements from several books. Takes place around the same approximate time as Summer Knight.
1. They Don't Tell Me Anything

**Authorial Note: First off, thanks for reading. Secondly, if there's any hardened Dresdenites out there who have a very firm grasp on the universe of the books, I'd appreciate it if you'd PM me. I need someone to bounce ideas off of in order to ensure I remain within the bounds of the Dresdenverse's rules. Thirdly, I don't have a third point to make. Read on!**

Chapter One

Arctis Tor was not a pleasant place to stay. Mortals were held in low regard there, considering how often they found the realms of Faerie hazardous, both physically and mentally, but even the Winter Sidhe could find their home taxing. Not that it's my home. There is no way in hell I'd ever choose to live there. But one does not refuse a formal invitation to Court from Mab, Queen of Air and Darkness. Especially not when one's patron gave you some not-so-subtle prodding in that direction. The tower of ice cut quite a figure, dominating the skyline for miles and miles around. Of course, miles weren't really a _thing_ in Faerie. As I approached the gate a Sidhe in armor that looked like it was made of black ice sneered down at me from the walls. His hair was dark and cut down to his chin, and like all Sidhe, his features were perfectly symmetrical. I raised my hand slightly, and curled my fingers together, as if to snap them. His eyes widened, and he pulled away slowly from the dark ramparts.

A smirk of my own curled across my face. I hated the Sidhe Lords, shielded by their finery and their haughtiness, so arrogant and superior. But, act like you might send some actual violence their way, and they usually backed right down. Not to say they were cowards, not at all. The Winter Court was well aware of my reputation, and most of the lower ranking idiots knew better than to tempt me too far. Of course, any threat made after I passed through the gates would be completely empty. Mab might want me here, but defiance of her authority would be answered with retribution so swift I wouldn't be able to even think of an apology, much less vocalize one.

My shoes crunched on the hard-packed snow that counted as a road here. The black gates of Arctis Tor swung open slowly, unaided, before me, and I rolled my eyes at the theatricality. I pulled my overcoat tighter around the tailored suit I had chosen to wear, and checked one last time to ensure my casting materials were close at hand. The amulet I had enchanted specifically for this occasion warmed against my chest, and I could feel the comforting glow of its heat lodge in my torso.

Stepping through the gates of the capital of Winter was like passing through an icy waterfall. I emerged from the other side cold, out of breath, and with the not insignificant impression that I had just done something rather monumentally stupid. I could feel the amulet underneath my shirt heating up, and just as quickly the heat flowed into me, preempting the shivers I could feel building in my arms.

I tried to not look around very much in the courtyard. I had enough fuel for my nightmares without observing the attendees of a Winter gathering. Nevertheless, I managed, without meaning to, to catch the attention of the Erlking and his small contingent. My heart sank in my chest. Aside from the actual rulers of the Fey, the Erlking was the one Sidhe I truly dreaded. The others were scary, sure, but at least I had a bit of a chance against them. Luckily for me, the Erlking seemed to nurse a sort of fondness towards my person. I hoped. Maybe.

"Young hunter!" He boomed, his baritone easily carrying over the short distance between us. "I had hoped to encounter thee among the festivities!"

I put on the best facade of a smile I could. "Lord Herne, always a pleasure."

He laughed eerily and clapped me on the shoulder. It felt like being shot wearing body armor. "I had heard news of thy latest great hunt among the thralls of the Lords of Night." His eyes glittered. "T'was a great slaughter, by all accounts."

"You are most gracious, Erlking." I tried desperately to prevent myself from sweating, regardless of the cold. The Erlking was, first and foremost, the Lord of the Wild Hunt, and if he sensed any weakness at all, I could find myself as the next bit of sport when he and his rode through the night.

The Lord of the Hunt's eyes narrowed dangerously as he glared at one of the Sidhe behind me, and I turned my head just enough to see that it was the one who had been above the gate. It would seem even Herne couldn't stand these assholes. He spoke quietly, for my ears only, "Should ye require assistance among tonight's festivities, call. It shall be answered."

I looked at him skeptically, and he added, "There shall be no obligation placed upon you to repay the favor granted, should you choose to use it." My eyebrows shot up in surprise, and I tried to think through every angle Herne could be using. On the one hand, he could be using me to eliminate someone among the Court he had a personal feud with. If that was the case, I'd put my money on Ice Armor over there. However, this could be some sort of long-term effort to persuade me to join the Wild Hunt. Ever since I started killing vampires in the Nevernever, he had been insistent that I be afforded the same "sport" as those of his own people.

My reply came slowly, each word carefully thought over before being spoken. "I am most grateful for your offer, Lord Herne, and should I find need of it, I will call for your aid." He nodded, placing his great antlered helm on his head.

I turned to walk away, and felt his powerful fingers clasp around my biceps. His voice was now barely above a whisper, "There are those gathered tonight who will try to provoke you to bloodshed. Remember the Queen's Law."

To say anything back would have been foolish, so I bowed very slightly at the waist. I could see now that there were many denizens of Winter staring in my direction, each and every one a predator of my kind. Ah, mortality. I walked into Arctis Tor like I owned the place, my stance daring any of the assembled nightmares to try me. I was terrified out of my wits, of course, but to let them see that would be the height of foolishness. Predators will always respond to body language, though it may not be in the way you expect. The fey did not part, but they did not attempt to stop me either. On the inside, I found a grand ballroom, most definitely different from the entrance room upon my last visit. There were even more denizens of Winter here than milled about outside. My heartbeat climbed. If they thought they could accomplish it without drawing the wrath of their host, most of those gathered here would try to tear me asunder. While laughing. While I was on fire.

An otherworldly shrieking started up near the wall farthest from the entrance. An invocation of lightning and spitting sparks was halfway through my mind, my fingers outstretched at my side, before I realized it was the announcement of Queen Mab. A dais of ice seemed to tear itself from the wall, the frozen perch shrieking in protest of its movement. The ice shuddered to a halt, creating a platform large enough to play volleyball on. Just as the dais finished its construction, a throne of solid ice began to rise from the floor of the platform. The moment it resolved its construction, a shape appeared, sitting straight in the throne, gazing out over the multitudes below.

Mab had come to court.

She was beautiful, in a deadly sort of way, her skin barely a shade above corpse pale, and her long hair darker than the night sky. She was dressed in, well; I can't honestly say what it was. It looked like opaque mist formed into a dress, constantly shifting and flowing with the slight breeze. I could feel a twitch going through the muscles of my face, and I ruthlessly clamped down on it, twisting my mouth into a grim rictus. I have no problem admitting to myself that I am, at heart, a coward, but I'll be damned if I get killed for looking like one.

At her appearance, every last one of the assembled guests turned to give her their undivided attention. Those seated rose to their feet, and any talk was cut instantly short. Surveying her subjects and guests imperiously, Mab's dark eyes glittered. The room was arranged so that every person would be in plain view of the dais. The message was clear. There is nowhere in Winter you can hide from the gaze of the Queen.

Said Queen nodded slightly at the assembled guests, and taking some signal from her gesture, an orchestra, completely unseen, began to play. I let out a small sigh of relief, and immediately moved towards a wall. Having my back to a solid surface was always helpful, and I could quickly survey the room.

Walking through a crowd of Sidhe in full revel is an . . . interesting experience. I could feel the subtle pressures of their magic, so integral to their being that it simply radiated away from their flesh, quietly straining in the air. Differing currents of energy from the more forceful personalities clashed and dueled, much like weather systems would in the atmosphere. I strode through it, a relatively calm mortal presence among the whirling tides of chaos. Already, I could feel the ambient force of the revel at the edges of my mind, whispering for me to let go and join the party, to lower my guard and have a little fun. That there was no risk here, only reward.

Yeah, right, and the fae also have a bridge to sell me in New York.

I made it to my chosen wall safely, and pressed my back to it, surveying what I saw. Honestly, I just couldn't tell what to think anymore. This was either a classy dance for monsters and impossibly beautiful people, out on the dance floor, or an orgy for just the impossibly beautiful people, in the corners. I tried to let my eyes just roam over the Sidhe women without really watching. As enticing as their physical attractiveness might be, I'd be better off shoving my masculinity into a blender.

A cold chill washed up my spine. I very slowly turned my head towards where my more-than-mundane senses told me it originated. Maeve was looking at me from across the room. There was no way she could see me very well through the bodies of so many others, but I could tell. I tipped an imaginary hat in her direction, and turned away again. Mab scared me. To be honest, Mab horrified me. A whole court full of sadistic Sidhe also scared me. Maeve was neither of those things, and if push came to shove, I'm fairly certain I could take her in a fight. I'd get beaten the hell up, but I'd win.

A young-looking Sidhe Lady chose just that time to approach, sidling up to next to me, settling in to lean against the wall. She was stunning, naturally, and for a moment my brain seemed to forget how to form words properly. Her long red hair was twisted into a large braid, and her pupils were length-wise, like a cat's, staring out from a heart-shaped face the color of a ripe peach. She had a light dusting of freckles, a first among any fae I'd ever seen. Of course, among the fae, appearance was no indicator of age, she could be barely more than a newborn, or older than human written language, for all I knew. Thus, it would pay to be polite.

"How may I help you ma'am?" I uttered in a low voice.

She smiled winningly and said, "It's more of how _I _can help _you._"

I grimaced. "I want no part of any deal, bargain, pact, agreement, compact or contract with a Faerie. Especially not a Winter one. No offense offered unto you, my lady, but I have more than enough hardship to be getting on with without adding debt to you into the mix."

A tinkling laugh issued from her pale lips, and all I could do was listen rapturously until it ended. I shook my head slightly, trying to clear my mind of the natural glamour that would always surround such a creature. Letting myself become lost in that dream would swiftly turn into a nightmare.

"No," she said ponderously, "I suppose you do. In any case, I offer a gift given freely, if you wish to take it." My eyes narrowed in suspicion, and I unconsciously reached under my jacket to touch the amulet through my shirt. She smiled winningly, her teeth almost fluorescent, "You may call me . . ." She paused to think for a moment, eyes lighting up after a few seconds, "Naime." Naime smiled benevolently. "Yes, that will do nicely. I currently find myself as a messenger from my Lady. She has informed me to direct you towards the far wall, so that you may find something that shall, oh, how did she put it? 'Inflame your passions.'"

That sounded just lovely. And not like a trap, not at all. "Is her Majesty . . . adamant that I go and investigate this?" Naime nodded seriously and I sighed. "If you would, please relate to Mab that I will do as she bids in this matter, and that I am pleased to accept her gracious invitation to her home."

Naime smiled, her mask of cheer impeccable, but I noticed her skin whitened further, and some of the red in her cheeks faded. "It is a dangerous game you play, mortal, but you do play it well."

I plunged once more into the party. I looked up to the dais and met Mab's gaze. She waved her hand in a supremely unconcerned and dismissive way, and matched it with a slight smile. Well, it would seem I had her approval. Things could only get worse from here.

At the Queen's gesture, a small path seemed to open up in the midst of the dancing and mingling Fae. I stalked through it like I was on my way to tear someone's face off. Which I probably was, considering it was _Mab_ who was encouraging this.

Whatever else anyone may say of them, the Sidhe are clever. The second I got near the wall, they surreptitiously spread themselves out from what I assumed must be my destination. And what I saw there did in fact inflame passions. Mostly the negative ones.

My old friend Ice Armor was with four other Sidhe who seemed to be wearing the same kind of black ice as he was, though his was far fancier and better decorated. They stood in a loose circle around a woman who I could clearly tell was mortal. For one thing, she was certainly good looking, but not to the insane degree of perfection exhibited by the fae. The second indicator would be the terrified sobbing. Her skin was covered in what looked like a multitude of tiny cuts and bruises, and I could see that her fingers were nearing a shade of blue I normally associated with frostbite. I felt the sudden overpowering urge to turn them all into very inefficient lightning rods.

However, that would likely get me killed by something else, and it would probably take a week or two. A diplomatic approach might be best. Maybe. Probably not.

"Gentlemen," I said, in an overly cheery tone, "How are such honorable members of the Unseelie faring this gelid evening?"

Ice Armor glared at me. "Take your disgusting stench of death elsewhere, mortal; we have business to attend to."

I raised a single eyebrow, but otherwise didn't react. "Really? Is that how two reasonable beings speak to each other? All I want is for you to let the girl go, alive and unharmed, and we can end this discussion right now you insufferable, cowardly asshole."

He bared his teeth in a snarl of rage, and I noted with trepidation that his canines were sharp and long, much more so than even a vampire's. Dammit. Talking braver than I felt, I responded, "Who does your dental work? It's just, you know, I was thinking of getting some thorough whitening done, and _wow_, those puppies are shiny." I would have groaned out loud if it wouldn't have been a loss of important face. When I was properly angry or scared, and I was both in this case, I just could not make myself shut up.

Ice Armor's rage turned to brief confusion. I capitalized on it as best I could. "So, how about it, big guy, will you and your little One Direction cover band let the girl go, or does this have to get hectic and very briefly violent?"

"You wouldn't break the Queen's Law," he hissed, "Not even a mortal such as yourself is quite that stupid."

"Au contraire, asshat," I waggled my eyebrows mockingly. I just kept digging myself in deeper. Well, if I was going to die, I was going to die with a chuckle on my lips. I flicked my eyes towards Mab's dais, and right on time, she nodded imperiously.

"Well kiddo, looks like mommy's agreed to our duel, so let's do this, huh? You win, I'm dead and . . . I don't know, you get to loot my corpse or something. I win, your compatriots -the Icettes over there- let the girl go into my care, alive and unharmed, and you're dead." I paused significantly, sure that every Sidhe present was listening intently. "Unless, of course, you're too frightened of a simple mortal."

He knew it was a goad, he had to know, but his pride, and the expectations of his compadres, ensured he would take it hook, line and sinker. "I accept, wizard. All weapons at our disposal allowed."

I smiled. "Done and done. Time for the official declaration, I suppose. I, Jason Stewart, Champion of Whatever I Damn Well Please, do challenge you, Lord Asshat of the Sidhe, for rights to the mortal you and yours claim. Do you accept?"

I thought he might have been having a conniption, from the look on his face. His words were more animalistic snarl than language, and he thrust his face close to mine to say them. "I, Lord Tharesh of the Sidhe, do accept your challenge, under the terms previously agreed upon. May your bones rot in the dirt."

I smiled in his snarling face. "Cool, let's get to it then." A large circular area around us cleared in moments, and we marched to opposite sides.

Tharesh practically screamed at me, "Are you prepared, mortal slime?"

I yelled right back, "Sure, why not?!" It would seem my carefully crafted flippancy had done the trick. He was almost frothing at the mouth, which meant that while he would certainly fight harder, he would most definitely not be fighting smarter. From behind Tharesh, I could see Maeve, grinning maniacally at me. A sinking feeling went through my chest. She had set the whole thing up –– of course she had. This was all a game to try her hand at embarrassing her mother. One of the Icettes had the poor mortal girl's neck in his hand, his touch delicate, for now. If I lost, he'd probably snap her neck on the damn spot, just to spite me. Lovely.

I unbuttoned my long overcoat, and then my suit jacket beneath it. There were useful items in both, too many to justify discarding either, but I didn't want the reduced mobility keeping them both closed would prevent. I drew out my amulet from under my shirt, letting it fall naturally over my tie. The silver markings glowed with a warm orange light, and I felt a little better about the impending fight for my life.

Without a word, Mab appeared at the midpoint between us. She scooped up a small handful of whatever misty substance made up her dress, and it shaped itself into a square. For the first time since the festivities began, Mab spoke.

There is no way to properly describe the voice that issued forth from her lips; it was unlike anything I have ever heard, or will ever hear again. The closest I can come is a frigid gale, shrieking through crevices and canyons, yet whispering through the branches of trees. "When the material touches the floor, you shall begin. Blood may be shed in the interest of the duel. All weapons available to each combatant shall be permitted for use." She smiled beatifically, without a biting twist of the lips, or a cynical glimmer of the eye. "It has been too long since such sport was presented in my Court." With that, she vanished from the spot, appearing instantly on her throne.

The misty cloth fell through the air slowly, and all eyes were fixed on its ponderous descent.

Marker touched icy floor, and immediately I tapped the sleeve of my overcoat. My will touched the small symbols sewn into the holster there, and they released my only real weapon. A short scepter, about the length of a man's shin, and made entirely of cold, glorious steel, slid out of my coat, and I smoothly caught it, just as I'd practiced it for hours and hours. The engravings that curled around the simple rod glowed with an electric blue light. I smiled at Tharesh, focused my will, and spoke a single word. "_Tintreach_!"

Now, to be fair, the act of casting mortal magic is much more complex than just aiming and saying a word. I had to properly envision what I wanted, in this case transforming magical energy into electrical, and then focus my entire mind on fulfilling that want. The imagination created a sort of container for the energy of the spell, shaping what would normally be just aimless force into something useful, and then I poured my will into making it so. This is much more difficult than it sounds. I could do it in less than a second, but I'd been at this for a while now. And with every spell I cast, I have to truly believe in what I'm doing. While this isn't usually a concern, violent magic can be a morally unsteady footing. The caster has to honestly believe, without a shadow of a doubt, that causing the death of another living being is the right thing to do in the situation they're in. Most prefer to simply believe in the construct, and then let what happens happen. I didn't do that.

Blue-white forks of brilliant lightning arced from the tip of my scepter. Despite the chaotic nature of the very force I had summoned, I lashed it to my will, redirecting the lightning into one arc. The problem with magical force is such that whatever you summon still tries to obey natural laws. It takes a certain amount of effort to craft lightning, and even more sustained will to prevent it from immediately grounding itself out, or leaping to other objects that are closer than your intended target. Tharesh dived to the side faster than my eyes could track, narrowly avoiding the coruscating electricity. Despite the dispensation given to me by the Queen, I was in no mood to barbeque some bystander fae and end up in a blood feud with its relatives. With a snarl, I forced the energy downwards, blasting a giant line of scorch into the ice floor. Normally I would have found that at least passing strange, but I had other concerns.

Ice Armor had managed to land back on his feet, and had formed one of his black gauntlets into a medium length sword. With a yell, he launched himself into the air, his blade poised to cleave me in two. My left hand gripped the amulet around my neck, and I sent power into the runes inscribed around the edge of the piece. An indistinct dome of what looked like nothing so much as heat haze sprang into existence between me and Tharesh. He smashed into the shield bodily, and it took only a second or two before he screamed and threw himself backwards. At least half of his armor had melted off, and his sword was little more than a hilt with a puddle near it. Shiny burns covered much of his once-spotless face and hands.

I grinned at him. It had been a bit tricky, modifying my shielding amulet to give out heat as well as maintain the integrity of the kinetic shield, but I got there in the end. The good thing about enchanted items is that they're so much less complex than an on-the-fly spell. All I had to do was push power into the item, with perhaps a bare minimum of guiding mental force, and I'd get the effect I wanted. Plus it had the nice side effect of keeping me warm and toasty while the actual amulet touched my skin. Necessary preparations for visiting Arctis Tor.

Letting the shield drop, I raised my scepter to point at my foe. "_Tintreach_!" Again a bolt of lightning shot forth from the metal, and again Tharesh dodged. But this time, he was slower, and the bolt nearly clipped his leg. I ground out the lightning on the frigid floor again, burning more scorch into the unyielding ice.

This time, Tharesh didn't bother leaping; he had gotten fairly close to me with that move already. Instead, he dashed around to my side almost faster than my eyes could see, and swung what looked rather distressingly like a newly formed sword at me. In the brief moment I could see it I was not reassured. All I could tell is that there were spikes. Far too many spikes. I twitched backwards in pure reflex, desperately moving away from his assault, but not quite far enough. The very tip of his blade cut a thin line down my torso, and I could immediately feel blood staining my shirt. A gauntleted fist followed the slash and, again, I rolled my head back but not fast enough to avoid the entire blow. His knuckles connected with my jaw as I moved back, and knocked me right off my feet. I felt a foot connect with my ribs, and felt at least one fracture, possibly even break. Hopefully not right into my lung. That would be bad.

Another kick connected with my torso and sent me skidding along the slick floor. I groaned in pain. At least there wasn't a rib and copious amounts of blood in my lungs. I could hear Tharesh giving some indignant speech somewhere to my left, but I didn't have the attention to waste on his words. I could hear quiet laughter and delighted talk coming from the crowd. At least someone was enjoying this. I reached with my left hand into the inside pocket of my overcoat, retrieving a small drawstring bag. It opened easily, and I held as still as I could.

Tharesh, like all bullies, felt he had to make a spectacle out of his victory. He stalked towards my limp form, still ranting on about . . . something or other. I didn't really pay attention. I managed a choking cough to try and clear my lungs, and asked in a shaky tone, "Hey, is this going to be on the final?"

With a whirl, he grabbed the front of my coat and lifted my face to his. "Where are your jokes now, mortal? I'm going to kill you. Laugh at that."

I chuckled, feeling a little better already. "Yeah, okay, McEvilstein. Could you be any more clichéd? Clearly you've never read the Evil Overlord List." With that witty little gem, shut up it was brilliant; I threw the entire pouch worth of iron filings in his face. Tharesh stumbled backwards, and though he didn't scream, I could see he badly wanted to. I, of course, was dropped back to the cold floor. On my recently broken rib and rather bruised flesh. Ow. At least I was able to snatch up my scepter. Ice Armor was only angrier now, and he took his sword in both hands, eyes glinting with hate.

_Well, this is bad,_ I thought, as Tharesh plunged his sword down towards my torso. I rolled onto my side desperately, gasping at the pain running through my broken rib, and his black sword jammed itself into the ice. Interesting. I swung my scepter towards his back, and the steel seemed to pass right through his ice armor, before searing into his flesh. Tharesh screamed at an ear-splitting volume, the muscles in his back thrown into a series of spasms. I twisted around so my feet were facing him, careful to keep the steel rod pressed against him. I kicked my foe in the side with one foot, and he bowled over easily, his bloodcurdling screaming finally abating. Honestly, if he hadn't been screeching the whole time, it would have been kind of hilarious, just kicking him over like that.

I leveled the scepter at his trembling form and uttered quietly, "_Tintreach."_

This time, there was no dodging. Neither was this a single bolt of electricity. Instead, I continued to pour power into the construct, producing a continuous stream of lightning. Tharesh's screams continued, rising in pitch and volume as I poured electricity into him. His muscles locked up like steel bands, clenching his limbs around his torso in a tight ball. The smell of burned flesh grew strong in the air, and I still continued to pour lightning into him. Somehow, he managed to finally form a coherent plea to his comrades. "Help me!"

Three of the Icettes leapt forward into the circle, brandishing their own ice weapons. The last kept his hand on the girl's neck. I turned my scepter from Tharesh's quivering form and pointed it straight at his minions. Hopefully he would take a bit to recover from _that._ Sparks spat out from the engravings, along with the normal blue light. They didn't necessarily back away, but they certainly stopped coming closer. A small smile quirked at the corners of my mouth. We had indeed agreed upon all weapons at our respective disposals. I lifted the fingers of my free hand up to my mouth and whistled piercingly.

A second passed. Then two. Just when I felt my stomach begin to sink, I heard a hunting horn call from the crowd in reply to my whistle. The Erlking shouldered his way through the crowd of Sidhe, his green eyes aflame with excitement. And I do mean _aflame_. Instead of eyes, he seemed to have green fires where his eyes should have been. I quickly got out of his way. Herne may be on my side right now, but that did not mean that I wanted to be between the Hunt and their prey. The Erlking brushed past me, unsheathing his massive sword as he walked towards the Icettes. As he passed me I heard him murmur, "I thank thee, young hunter."

Quite honestly, I was unreasonably lucky that the Erlking had responded so well to being _whistled for. _I half expected him to kill me first for having the audacity to summon him like a common servant. He must really hate Tharesh, or whoever was giving the asshat his marching orders.

I looked back down at Tharesh, who was just now managing to struggle onto his hands and knees.

I let my scepter slide down until I was gripping it by the head, and positioned it over the center of his spine. I opened my hand, and the second the scepter began to fall, I yelled, "_Teann!"_

An invisible burst of force erupted from my palm, focused on the head of the steel rod. It smashed clean through Tharesh's armor, and then his flesh, impaling him to the floor like an insect pinned to a card for study. He was too battered to scream, but I couldn't imagine the kind of pain he was feeling now. I placed a hand on the smooth metal of my scepter. Normally I prefer to be ruthlessly pragmatic in combat. I leave the showy crap to demons and swordsmen. However, this was, first and foremost, a show. The Queen of Winter was the only part of the audience who I particularly wanted or needed to impress, and my life just may have been hanging on the result of said show. I looked around to ensure I had the attention of every last Sidhe, before screaming out for the last time, "_Tintreach!" _Lightning ran through the conductive metal before spreading throughout my opponent's body. He jerked and twitched as the electricity ran through his nervous system and his muscles. He couldn't scream, but a twisted sort of whine was torn from his failing lungs and throat. It rose in intensity steadily until suddenly it ceased completely. With some difficulty, I yanked the scepter from Tharesh's back, flicking it once to try and remove the blood and other tissue from it.

I looked around at the sea of fae, and even they seemed shocked by what I had done. It was the steel, most likely. We mortals cannot, and likely will not, ever grasp just how badly iron hurts the Sidhe. It sears their flesh, yes, but it's more than that. Iron burns their very souls, in a kind of pain we mortals can't even imagine. I had once been told that it felt a little bit like you were dying. And the fae who are touched by the Bane, as they call it, are never quite the same again. Some became withdrawn and paranoid, seeing enemies with cold, cruel iron wherever they looked. Others became bitter and hateful, lashing out at any who dared to be near them.

I nodded in satisfaction, and straightened my tie, noting with despair that some of the blood from my cut had soaked into the fabric. I looked into the crowd, and raised my voice to be heard over the sound of the Erlking's combat. "Are you not entertained? Is this not why you are here?" None of them got it. I sighed quietly. No taste for the classics around here.

The Erlking had already reduced one of Tharesh's minions to three pieces, and was currently impaling a second. I went over to the third and made a downward motion with the splayed fingers of my left hand. "_Teann!_" I was lucky. He was so stunned by the defeat of his fearless leader that he had barely even raised a weapon.

The Sidhe was crushed down to his knees, and with a sickening pair of cracks, I heard his kneecaps, and probably several other bones, shatter. Immediately he pitched forward, his face smashed into the floor. I released the force and studied the tableau. One Sidhe a burned hunk of meat, two cut into pieces by the Erlking, who had clearly thrown in his formidable allegiance to a mortal in this conflict, and the last one on his face before me.

I turned to face away from the fallen Sidhe. It was the worst insult I could give him. The crowd was hushed, and I glared out at them. "This," I yelled, "is a message! Is my message perfectly clear?! Do any of you need an explanation as to the precise content of said message?!"

One of the Sidhe stepped forward. "We will not accept this treatment from a m-"

His sentence was cut off as I snarled, "_Tintreach!"_ This one was unprepared for combat, and completely unshielded by armor, magical or mundane. And he was no trained warrior, with none of the combat reflexes the professional killers amongst the Sidhe possessed. The bolt didn't so much hit him as it did burn through him. For a split second he danced like a poorly controlled marionette, limbs jerking spastically. Of course, he was dead the instant that much voltage went into his brain, but sometimes my spells will accidentally trigger muscle activity in corpses. I made sure to let the bolt ground out before it emerged from the other side of his torso. No need to make more enemies than absolutely necessary.

"Thank you," I said calmly, "For raising your concerns. I'm glad you asked, really, I am."

I looked up questioningly at Mab, and she said, in her indescribable voice, "You may address the throne."

I bowed my head respectfully. "Thank you. Thank you for your kind invitation to tonight's festivities, but I am afraid I must be departing now. Of course, I would be rude to leave without the consent of the hostess . . ."

Mab waved one hand lazily in my direction. "Go on your way, mortal wizard. Take the prize you have won and depart my court." I tipped an imaginary hat her way and walked towards where the scared girl sat. She looked up at me with frightened eyes, and I tried to smile reassuringly. The scars near my eye probably didn't help. I reached a hand out to help her up, and she seemed to consider it seriously for a moment or two before taking it and allowing me to haul her to her feet. Without another word, I opened a Way back to Earth, stepping through it, scared woman in tow.


	2. I Liked It Better That Way

Chapter Two

The instant I felt the Way close fully behind me, I collapsed onto one knee. The pain in my chest was almost blinding, and it had taken every bit of spine-tingling fear of the assembled Sidhe in my body to keep a cool composure. A hiss of pain escaped my clenched teeth, and I slowly straightened up to my feet. Without warning, the girl I had saved pulled one of my arms over her shoulder, taking some of my weight. Luckily, I wasn't a particularly large fellow. Tall, sure, but not towering. I murmured my thanks, and took a moment to look at where the Way had dumped us. Geography in Faerie is . . . odd. It's all based off emotion and ideas. Trying to match that up with regular old Earth geography was like trying to do calculus with a severe concussion. Possible, yet improbable, and likely to leave everyone involved with a headache.

Luckily for me, the Queen of Winter must have enjoyed the show. I was in an alleyway just outside my house. I lived in a sort of suburb to Boston, but one that was close enough to the city to be considered metropolitan. Hence the alley. It was a dark little alley, well hidden from prying eyes, and I was in a reasonably good part of town, so there was a very small chance of criminals or other ne'er-do-wells being present. I took a moment to study the person I had just risked my life to save. She looked to be early twenties at the latest, and was certainly pretty, in a sort of bookish way. Her hair was a dark sort of honey color and unkempt from her ordeal. Several bruises were starting to form on what I could see of her very lightly tanned skin. She was dressed in what I could only assume were casual street clothes for a girl her age, a long-sleeved shirt and jeans. Tharesh must have just plucked her right off the streets. Asshat.

"My home is right here, if you'd like to come on in." She nodded silently and we hobbled forward like drunken revelers heading back from a particularly energetic party. Mab had deposited us halfway down the alley, but it was still going to be a bit of a walk. "What's your name?" I asked quietly. When dealing with someone who might be in shock, which was entirely possible in her case, it was best to be calm and quiet.

She opened her mouth to reply, but I held up a hand for her to stop when I felt a warm wetness start to drip from my nose. I brought the fingers of the hand that wasn't draped around the girl's shoulders to my face and then to my eyes. Blood. Oh, to hell with this. Blood is perhaps the strongest magical focus when dealing with a living thing. If you have someone -or something's- blood, assuming it's still wet, you can do whatever you want to them from a distance. There are defenses one can raise against thaumaturgic attacks, but it's incredibly difficult, and you'll most likely just end up dying tired. And everyone has to sleep eventually. If it had started falling in Artcis Tor before I'd left and someone had gotten a fresh sample... No, I refused to think about it. If it had happened, there was nothing I could do about it now.

I quickly detached myself from her grip and turned to look at the alley. The pain from my rib was excruciating, but my panic was quickly overriding any physical agony. I didn't think any blood had fallen from my face yet, but there was no leaving something like this up to chance. _"Dóiteáin!"_ A little wave of fire sprang up at my feet and ran over the ground, singeing everything it touched. It completely filled the alleyway from wall to wall, and washed over the concrete until it struck the far dead end, guttering out instantly. I pressed my hand against my face, preventing any more blood falling. Looking over at the girl, I said, in a much muffled voice, "Let's both get inside before a demon horde marches down the street or something." She managed a weak smile at my equally weak attempt at humor, and we hobbled the rest of the way to my door.

My house was okay. Honestly, that's the only way I could think to describe it. It was bigger than I needed, but not large, cozy, but didn't really feel like a home, clean, but amazingly disorganized. I loved it all the same, but I recognized that it was probably not the sort of place people dream of living in some day. Two story, two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a living room, and a kitchen. Far more than I needed, to be honest. I disabled the wards with a short wave of the hand. The current of energy around the building retreated back into the small gem I used as a focus in my kitchen. The girl opened the door and helped me over to the wide living room couch, and gently assisted me in lowering myself onto it. Once there, I gave a lazy flick of my fingers and the wards thrummed back to life.

My fingers caught my attention. They were patterned in a canvas of developing bruised. At least there was only low light in the room, so I could at least pretend to not be disturbed by how bad my hands looked. Magic has many drawbacks, some obvious, some subtle. The most obvious, and most annoying in my opinion, was that most technology completely lost its shit around strong magic. Cell phones would die, and sometimes _ignite,_ if someone tried to use one near me, and every car I had ever owned had required a lot of maintenance to be kept running. Fortunately, the simpler the device was, the less chance magic would disrupt it. I used fluorescent bulbs and chemical lights in my house. I had to replace all of the bulbs within a month, at least, but it was better than candles or living in the dark.

The last remnants of adrenaline in my system were wearing off quickly, and the pain was getting worse. I took as deep a breath as I could, and slowly let it go, trying not to grimace from the fire in my chest. Luckily, the fact that I could breathe at all without screaming seemed to indicate that my rib was fractured, not broken. Nothing to do but just let it heal, honestly. The rest of me was a bit bruised, but nothing too bad.

However, I was bone tired from all the magic I had been slinging about. The actual energy behind a spell, in almost all cases, is drawn from your environment, mostly the emotions and sheer _life_ of seven billion people all sharing the same planet at once. But marshaling the willpower necessary to take that force and make it do something useful was mentally exhausting. Add that to the strain of channeling such powerful energies through the body, and most magical brawls at my level of power ended up with the winner nearly as dead as the loser.

The scared girl was looking around with the air of a rabbit examining the decorating of a hound's den. She had helped me inside earlier, and was probably rethinking her decision now that the heat of the moment had worn off. I chuckled tiredly. Right now, she could probably take me down without much of a struggle. "You can sit down, you know. I won't bite. Hell, I probably _can't_ bite right now."

She sat in one of my armchairs, her eyes darting around the room rapidly. "So, what's your name?"

She barely managed to stutter her way through a reply. "M-M-Marion, sir."

I rolled my eyes. "Yeah, I'm going to call you Mary. My name is Jason Stewart. You can call me Jason, Jase, J, or Wizard Stewart. And please stop shaking; I'm not going to hurt you or anything. You're a guest in my home, Mary, and among the people of my profession and affiliations, that's a big deal. Not to mention that I didn't get a rib cracked just to acquire some kind of demented punching bag." She flushed a little at the reminder of my rash action.

"If I could ask, sir," She seemed to flinch back from my gaze a bit and spilled out the rest in a rush, "Why did you save me? I mean, I'm sure I haven't met you before, and I doubt you know me, considering that you asked me my name and . . ." She trailed off into silence, looking at me as if I was a barely leashed animal.

I sighed and rubbed at my eyes. "I guess because I wanted to. I'm an idiot like that sometimes. I see a pretty girl in distress, and I jump in, despite the several very good reasons not to." The pain from my rib was getting worse, but I pushed it to the back of my mind. "Don't worry about it too much. I made my own decisions, and it turned out pretty well. Just focus on the fact that you're here, not being torn apart in several different meanings of the phrase."

She shuddered violently, and tears welled up in her eyes. Well now I just felt like an asshole. Jason Stewart, slayer of monsters, he who spits in the face of Sidhe, and the guy who makes defenseless, traumatized girls cry, everybody! Just fantastic. "Look, I'm sorry, don't think about it. If it makes you feel better, Winter fae will never try to take you or even look at you funnily ever again. Though I do not agree with their ideas, they consider me to be your . . ." I grimaced, trying to think of a proper word, "Owner, I suppose. Basically, if any of them tries to touch you, it is seen as a grave insult to me. And they won't be too eager to try that anytime soon." I thought about it for a moment before adding, "Unless they want to get to me for some reason and consider that a good way to send a message." I grimaced apologetically. "Sorry."

Before she could reply, I felt a _shudder_ run through my house. I looked around, startled. Apparently Mary hadn't felt anything, which told me it was at least mostly magical in nature. That was not good at all. Any being that could circumvent my wards without breaking them was something that could turn me to ash with a thought. Immediately afterwards, a powerful feeling of _presence_ rolled over me. There was something in my house alright, just upstairs in fact, and it was either radiating power, or very skilled in illusion.

All of this was made even more disturbing by the fact that I was _in my home._ Every house that is sufficiently lived in has a threshold, a magical field that permeates the dwelling. If someone of a magical persuasion enters without permission, they find themselves unable to cast more than the most rudimentary magics. Several supernatural creatures, like most kinds of vampires, and the fae, can't cross one at all. An invitation to enter the home, from one who has a legitimate claim to that right, would cancel the effect of the threshold on the one who had been invited. And I hadn't invited a single damn person or thing into my house.

I scrambled to my feet as fast as I could, and gestured for Mary to hide behind something. Even someone as magically untalented as she could feel the sheer power of whatever abomination had invaded my house. The first indicator of its arrival was subtle, and I'd only felt it through my mind's connection to the house's wards. But now it was the T-Rex from Jurassic Park, and my house was the glass of water. It would kill me fairly simply, if that's what it wanted, but I hoped it would ignore someone as non-threatening as my newest houseguest. Tentatively, I reached out with my awareness, trying to quietly probe at the nature of whatever _thing_ had invaded my house and brushed aside the threshold like it was a gossamer curtain.

A wave of pain swept through the inside of my skull, into places where I knew there should _not_ be pain receptors. I collapsed back to the floor, agony from my ribs joining the burning in my head. And abruptly as it came, the sensation left. I rose back to my feet slowly, trembling from both the aftershock and fear. Whatever this thing was, I was its bitch, and it knew it.

It reached the top of the staircase, and slowly began to descend. I clenched my teeth together, not willing to die, but unsure of what else I could do against such might. My hand clasped my amulet, and its cheerful warmth washed through my body.

Another step. And another. I saw the shadows in the room start to bend oddly, twisting towards the intruder. Whatever blood was left in my face evacuated in a rush.

Finally, I saw whatever creature it was that had violated my home, my mind, and my safety. Eldritch power rushed out from . . . a pretty red-headed woman. She had to be five foot four, tops. With freckles.

I decided I had gone insane. That was clearly it, I had just gone mad at the Winter party and this was all part of some break with reality. But suddenly, I realized that I recognized whatever this creature was. However it wasn't me, but Mary, who asked tentatively, "Naime?"

She clapped her hands excitedly. "Mistress was sure neither of you would remember me!" She ran forward and hugged Mary, both of them excitedly talking at the same time. Okay.

I shook my head slowly and asked. "Okay, what in the hell did I just get myself into, and explain it _clearly._"

Naime looked smug. "My Mistress-"

"Yes, yes, Mab, I know."

She glared me into silence and said, "No. Not Mab. I owe fealty to one altogether . . . different."

I opened and closed my mouth several times, trying to think of an appropriate response. Finally, I said, "You mean to tell me that you, knowingly, sent me in to fight four Lords of the Sidhe –– in Mab's own court, might I remind you––without operating on her orders, or even acquiring her permission for me ahead of time?"

She thought about it for a bit. "Yeah."

I sputtered in indignation. "I could have been killed! If not by those fools, then by Mab!"

Naime shrugged nonchalantly. "Sure, it was possible. But Mistress demanded it of me. And of you, might I add."

A chill ran down my spine. "Whom do you serve, Naime?"

She wagged her finger at me in a mocking fashion. "Wrong! It's whom do _we_ serve."

I swallowed nervously and glanced at Mary. She still seemed perfectly human, but that wasn't a guarantee of a damn thing. "You are referring to yourself and Mary, right?"

Her smile could have scared wolves. "I mean all three of us."

**Authorial Note: Yeah, dialogue! Yeah, exposition! On a more serious note, some of the writing here is a bit flawed, but I couldn't think of better ways to express certain concepts. I promise, once all the noir-esque exposition is done, we'll get back to competence. Until then, work with me.**


	3. Why Is It Always Me?

Chapter Three

"No. No, there is no way in hell. The Morrigan doesn't have any other servants. I'm the only one I've ever heard of serving her since the Renaissance!" I regretted using her Name almost immediately. It wasn't an immediate sort of thing, but if you used something's Name too often, assuming it had enough power to have a Name and not a name, it'd take notice. Aggressively. As in making your brain bubble out of your ears aggressively.

Mary smiled nervously at me. "Well, why do you think she had you save me? There aren't many of us to begin with. Far too few to lose one."

I gritted my teeth in frustration. To be played by a Sidhe, even one that was on my side, was galling. I had never even asked for her to elaborate anything about her story, never asked for proof, I had just charged right on ahead. To be fair, this sort of thing happened every time a pretty girl was involved. Every. Damn. Time.

I had tried to avoid associating with my Patron for the past few years. The Morrigan was admittedly a fair mistress, but I wasn't an especially large fan of servitude. And here she was, dragging me back into whatever fae mess she wanted cleaned. A thought occurred to me and I turned to Naime. "Hey, even empowered by Mo- our Patron, how did you get past my threshold?"

She smiled and tutted at me sarcastically. "You really think the Lady would be prevented from opening up the home of her servant?" I paled again. It was going to be a _thing _I was sure. At any given time The Morrigan could invite whatever she pleased into my home. That hadn't been mentioned in the original contract. Or if it had, I had been way too scared and full of teenage self-importance to recognize it. Some days it seemed like all I was doing was cleaning up past Jason's mistakes. Man, that guy was an asshole.

Mary was smiling at me in a nervous sort of way, and I had to bite back the temptation to snap at her. It was tough. Naime, however, was not smiling, but _smirking_, and I was not so inclined towards her. "And what on Earth are you smiling about?"

Naime's grin only widened. "Oh, nothing, just how cute you are when you're angry."

And I couldn't find a single response for that. Sodding dammit. I sighed and rubbed at the bridge of my nose. A headache was on its way, I could already tell. "What does our Mistress want?"

Naime grinned mischievously. "Finally! A useful question!" The overwhelming sense of presence washed over me again, and I had to grit my teeth against its inexorable press. The Sidhe woman's face contorted strangely, and when she looked at me again, I knew I was speaking to someone ––something –– else. Though I had seen her in person only once, I knew that I would recognize my mistress until the day I finally died. In all the ways that Mab was subtlety and power, She was fear and quiet hate. Oh, she was beautiful, to be sure, but that beauty was a weapon to The Morrigan. Her eyes were the worst. Other fae could be concealing, they could be devious, and not a single one of them could be easily read in any normal circumstance. The Morrigan took them all to school. Her eyes betrayed absolutely _nothing_. If I hadn't known better, I would have said they belonged to a corpse, not a living thing. Those same eyes, The Morrigan's horrible, empty eyes, greeted me from Naime's face. Naime's appearance didn't change, her skin was still the same shade, and her eyes the same color. But it was my Lady who looked out from behind her eyes.

Her voice was barely above a whispe, but not in a way that could be measured in decibels. I could hear everything my Patron said with perfect clarity; that wasn't the problem. It was quiet in the same way that a rattlesnake's tail was quiet. The threat implicit was more than enough to ensure that one listened, without being a loud noise.

"You've been neglecting your debt."

I swallowed nervously; sweat beginning to coat my palms. "I, uh, I've been–" I cleared my throat and tried again. Nothing came out of my mouth, no clever quip, nor defiant vitriol. Nothing at all. My Patron held not just my life, but also my very my soul in her hands. If I annoyed Her too much, She could literally erase my essence from existence. No thank you.

The Morrigan didn't smile; She bared her teeth by pulling her lips away from them. "No matter. You shall fulfill your _geis_, or I will take from you what you received." That would be bad. People would die, a whole lot of people. And one of them would be me, which I was professionally opposed to.

I tried to put a bit of steel into my voice. "As you command, my Lady."

She smirked. "Precisely."

Evidently The Morrigan was a smart ass as well as a terrifying near-deity. I felt a bit of courage trickle back into me along with indignation. One thing I hate above all else is being condescended to. "What is it you wish?"

The Morrigan gestured lazily to Mary, who was resolutely trying to be as still and silent as she could without seeming to hide. I noticed that the Wyldfae's hands were beginning to drip a small trickle of blood. It would seem some stories had a bit of truth to them. "You will protect your fellow servant against all threats for a fortnight. You will expend every resource, and move yourself to every effort in pursuit of this task. She is important in ways you cannot fathom. After that time has passed, you may consider this obligation fulfilled and your responsibility to her ended. I also expect you to hunt the threats to her person that present themselves during this time." She glared at me with, not quite malice, but definitely threat. "And you will hunt _most_ diligently."

Too easy. There was no possible way it was going to be this easy. "And what, my Lady, will I be defending her against?"

Already She was withdrawing from Naime's body. The shadows were shifting back into a normal configuration, and the crush of her presence lifted bit by bit from my mind. Just before The Morrigan left she said to me, "Whatever will come."

I desperately wanted more information, but She was already gone. Damned fae and their collective flair for the dramatic. It could have been worse, I supposed. She could have actually been three aspects of one creature, as most legends depicted. I shivered at the thought.

Naime stumbled as The Morrigan left her, and almost pitched forward onto my floor. She caught herself before she could overbalance, and I could see that her skin was ashen. I moved to help, but a fresh wave of agony rippled through me. Unlike my Sidhe visitor, I crumpled over onto my side. Burning, searing, _blinding_ heat ran through me. It filled my entire body, from my scalp down to my toes, and I couldn't even formulate the thought required to scream. The sensation began to recede from my extremities, and I felt it build in my side, focusing on my ribs. My hands twisted into claws, and I dragged myself by the edge of the couch to a more or less upright position.

The fire reached an agonizing crescendo, and then departed almost immediately. I knew that sensation, had known it ever since I had first made my deal with The Morrigan. By acceding to her wishes, the _geis_ of my contract had rewarded me. I drew in a deep breath and felt no pain from my ribs. More than that, I could feel my mind tingling with magic. I was filled to the brim with power, more than I had ever been able to hold onto before. That was the way it worked; every time the _geis_ gave me its reward for servitude, I grew more powerful, the amount of magic I could call on a little bit greater.

Of course, when I began my servitude to The Morrigan, I was barely strong enough to be considered magically gifted at all. I could do a little bit of force, and on my best day summon up the magical equivalent of a taser, assuming I didn't pass out from the effort. She had given me an immediate boost in power, enough to kill the enemies that had, back then, seemed so indomitable; in return, I had agreed to take up Her _geis._

It had been necessary to survive at the time, but I still wasn't sure whether or not I had made a wise choice. If I ever worked directly against, or completely refused the explicit orders of, my Patron the _geis_ would use my own ill-gotten magic to kill me. Probably in a way that would bankrupt most special effects studios.

I looked over to Mary, and could see that she was barely holding back laughter. Yeah, cool, laugh at the guy who keeps getting hurt. Her sense of humor almost reminded me of a Sidhe's, which was not good at all. Of course, there was nothing I could really do or say about it. Instead, I pointedly ignored her. Naime smiled, her color already beginning to return. "I must be off now, dearie. Places to go, people to defenestrate, you know how it is." Without another word, she blew a kiss in my direction, winked, and opened a Way around her body. The coruscating light of the portal cast strange shadows over the living room, and burned afterimages into my retinas.

The rip in the air closed as soon as she was gone. Frankly, I was a bit sad to see her go. I really could have used the help of a psychotic Sidhe on this one, loath as I was to admit it. I rubbed my eyes for a few seconds and turned to my houseguest. "Well, this is the last time I save a pretty girl on the orders of another pretty girl." Which I knew was patently false. I would rush in to save the day like an idiot until it finally got me killed.

I sat down heavily on the couch. It felt _wrong_ to be sitting still with so much magic permeating my system. I wanted to go sprint through the streets, sing songs at the top of my lungs, _something._ This was one of the more insidious dangers of magic, one that felt like a boon. Magic, to not put too fine a point on it, is life. And right now I was filled with so much life I wanted to immediately go and live it. Instead, I sat down and tried my best to keep from drumming my fingers against my leg.

Perhaps a few answers would distract me. "Mary, why are you so important?"

She jumped at the sound of her name. Honestly, how could this girl be a servant of The Morrigan, who was worshiped as a goddess of _war_? This girl was practically scared of her own shadow. "I don't know. I'm sorry, but I just don't . . . I don't have any kind of power, and I don't think I know anything important, I just. . ."

I sighed. "It's fine. If The-" I barely caught myself, "our Lady says you're important, then you are. I would however like to know what may be coming after us. Is there anyone or anything in your past that might hold a grudge?"

She replied haltingly, every word an effort. "When I was young, it was just me and my father. He raised me by himself until I was about seventeen. But then, one day he just vanished. No one knew what had happened to him; no one seemed to care either. I went looking and spent about three years trying to find some kind of answer. The Lady found me and told me that I was angering things that were beyond my ability to fight." She shuddered. "I didn't listen. I just wanted to find my dad. And all my searching eventually led me to one of the Red Court's charnel houses, right here in Boston."

I knew how the story of the missing father would conclude. Either he was an inhuman monster, or he was dead. It was a tale that had been repeated millions of times, with every possible permutation. Normally the Reds didn't bother moving their operations so far north, but they made an exception for most major human cities. All that food walking around was just too tempting for them. If I'd had the power, I would have killed the ones stationed here long ago. But that would bring down far too many consequences on my head. The White Council didn't appreciate independent Wizards, especially not vigilantes.

Mary didn't seem to want to continue, but I needed to know. "Mary, I know this is hard, but if I'm going to keep you safe, I need to know everything about who's chasing you and why."

She nodded shakily, and looked to be on the edge of tears. Man I hated being an asshole. "He was long dead, of course, but the local Court didn't appreciate my prying. They found out about me, somehow, and ordered me killed. The Lady appeared to me and offered me safety in return for service. I didn't see any way out, so I accepted. Naime was assigned to watch out for me, and we became friends. Well, as close to a friend as she'll ever have. She took me to our Patron's domain in the Nevernever, and I would still be there today if it wasn't for Tharesh. He and his raiding party took several Wyldfae captive, and I was out of Her lair at the time . . ." She sniffed, and, trying to appear nonchalant, shrugged. "It wasn't like I could fight them off."

I didn't know what to believe. Her story sounded genuine, but something in me couldn't help but doubt it. It was just too typical. I mean, don't get me wrong, the Reds would do every last one of those things, and have done so more times than anyone would, or could, ever know, but there was just no way The Morrigan would take notice of her for _that._ Thousands upon thousands of mortals could repeat an almost exact copy of her tale and be telling the truth. There had to be more to it. That, or she had just lied her ass off with expert ability. I couldn't blame her; she had just met me a few hours ago, and didn't know a damn thing about me.

But, her story did help a lot of other things make sense. The whole invitation from Mab had been orchestrated by The Morrigan, trying to get me in a position to rescue Mary. I shuddered to imagine what my Patron must have paid to arrange for Mab to invite me to Court. I recovered quickly and smirked to myself at the thought of Maeve's defeat. When she finally figured out how masterfully she had been played, she would lose her damn mind. My smile soured. And then she'd send out minions to try and reclaim her lost pride. By eviscerating me. Dammit. Dammit all to hell.

"Well, Mary, it would seem that I'm going to have to protect you against both Winter's flunkies and the Red Court's agents." I shook my head ruefully. "While our Patron also wants me to go hunting for those who I need to defend you against. All of which means, in short, that you'll be spending a lot of time in this house. Barring divine intervention, it's probably the safest place in the whole city."

She looked at me worriedly. "And where, precisely, will you be?"

"Well, first off, I'm going to sleep. Then, I guess I'll go hunting for vampires."

**Authorial Note: Now, for those of you who may be thinking, "Wow, this guy isn't a coward at all!" Keep in mind the narration is what HE thinks of himself. If you've ever read Caiaphas Cain, it's something similar. Now, The Morigan. There are a few questions I figured I'd address, because I'd ask them in your position. The Morrigan is not a deity of any kind. She's an intensely strong Fae with a penchant for beguiling mortals into worshiping her. However, she never really got people to go in for the blood sacrifices and whatnot, so she couldn't become something along the lines of the 12 former deities in the Red Court. Imagine the Leanansidhe, with a massive need for others to stroke her ego. I say "The" Morrigan, because that's how she was referred to in the Celtic mythology. The hands of blood are a reference to Cu Chulainn's death. Go and read about him, interesting stuff.**

**Now this is more of general advice, rather than a specific story note, but keep in mind that all characters only know what they know, and can and will form erroneous beliefs from not having the right, or enough, information. Anyone could be lying about anything. The only character you, as the reader, can truly say to know what's going with is the PoV character.  
**


	4. Well, Now It's Him Too

**Author's Note: It's time to meet my favorite character to write. Now, I am not especially pleased with this chapter. The dialogue didn't really come to me as easily as I felt it should have, and I've edited the crap out of it several times. I'm reasonably satisfied with how it is now, but there is plenty of room for improvement. If you kind folks can think of some things that would improve the quality, I'd be ecstatic to hear your suggestions. I promise, next chapter is way longer, way better, and with 95.6% more wub-wub. (Kidding, wub-wub isn't welcome here.)**

Chapter Four

Despite my bold proclamation of the previous night, I was not very excited about the idea of deliberately going out and trying to hunt down Red Court vampires. With the war between the White Council and the Court, a significant massacre would be noticed by both sides, which would likely blame the other. If I lost, the Reds would attack the Council in vengeance for failed wizardly aggression. If I won, the Reds would attack the Council in vengeance for successful wizardly aggression. And either way, the Council would wonder who the hell was in Boston, barbecuing vampires with a full member grade talent. While they couldn't be bothered to get off their collective ass to protect innocents, they sure as hell were good at moving to punish vigilantes.

This could very well lead me to a Warden-sponsored execution. I hoped they'd bring their own popcorn. I could always do nothing, and just let the _geis_ turn my insides into my outsides. Either way, I ended up dead. I really hoped a third option would present itself soon. Regardless of that, I needed answers, and to be prepared. Perhaps the Reds would respond better to a known independent operative than they did to most wizards these days. Yeah, sure, I was just begging to have my face ripped off at this point.

I set out that morning with a stern order for Mary to not leave the house. I couldn't protect her if she wasn't behind the wards, and keeping her around for the hunt would only up the chances of her biting the dust, not lower them. After breakfast, I siphoned as much power as I dared into the gem that sustained my wards. By the time I left, the magical hum of power was almost audible.

At least I was in a clean suit and tie. One that wasn't stained with my own blood, at least. I stepped off the stoop of my home and into the cold autumn air.

The Red Court ran, among _many_ other things, prostitution, with bordellos ranging from ratholes to palaces. One of their nicest establishments was within walking distance, and the foul creature in charge probably had the information I needed.

Before I waved down a taxi, I double checked my coat's pockets, taking inventory of my various little tools. It was a formidable selection, though I was missing one very important thing. Backup.

With that in mind, I hailed a cab and told him, not the location of the Red whorehouse, but the address of one of my oldest friends.

Sam lived in a much nicer house than mine. Honestly, it was closer to an estate than a house. His Patron was more in tune with mortal affairs, and rewarded him with power in both the magical and monetary senses. No, I'm not jealous, shut up.

I paid the driver, and set off down Sam's long driveway. It was a bit of a walk, to be honest. Still not jealous. Reaching his house, I knocked three times on the door, and Sam himself opened it. He was a tall man, with platinum blond hair and a physique that made Hugh Jackman look like a pansy. He didn't even work out.

Sam always answered his own door. He wasn't born into privilege, and had to claw his way to the top for it. As a result, he never had, and likely never would, employ servants, preferring to do everything himself.

As the door opened, I found myself staring down the barrel of a rather large handgun. "Oh. Hey Sam, what's up? Can I come in?"

Sam's green eyes glared at me from the other end of the gun. He was young, at least a few years younger than I. But something about Sam suggested a much greater age than he possessed. Though he sometimes acted like an immature idiot, I considered him the voice of reason in our little duo. "I dunno. Can you?" He asked. With that, he moved back several paces, keeping the gun trained firmly on my center mass. I kept my hands up where he could see them, and crossed the threshold into his home.

Immediately I felt the lion's share of my magic cut off from my mind, and I squirmed a little at the sensation. Still, I understood his precaution. With the sheer number of creatures that could imitate the form of another, asking me to cross the threshold was an almost certain guarantee of who I was. Illusions would break, cut off from their source of power; and most shapechangers would be unable to cross at all.

His manner immediately jocular, Sam deposited his gun on a side table near the door (to this day, I swear he puts it there to make attempted robberies more interesting) and pulled me into a bear hug that threatened to crack several ribs. Again. "Good to see you Jase! What have you been up to?" Sam had never possessed a drop of magical talent on his own. His Patron couldn't just give him the power to cast spells, so, instead of magical power, his gifts came in the form of massively increased physical capabilities. His reflexes were faster than even the best human's, and he could easily crush bones with his bare hands.

I had never actually found out who his Patron was. Among those of us who have traded servitude for power, it was considered impolite to ask. Likewise, he had no idea who I served. If I had to guess though, I would say his master was one of the lower orders of dragon. Definitely one of the nicer ones, judging by his lack of burn scars.

I smiled weakly at his boisterous enthusiasm. "I'm doing pretty well, Sam. I was wondering if you wanted to come along on a little job of mine."

His eyes sparked with excitement. "Is it gonna be dangerous?"

My smile grew. "Utterly. Vampires and whatnot."

"Awesome!" He exclaimed, "I haven't had anything interesting happen in _months_!" He clapped me on the back and said, "Just chill out here for a few minutes, I need to grab my stuff." Sam practically sprinted back into the house; no doubt off to gather together a truly frightening amount of weaponry. If the police ever raided his house, they'd put him in jail for the next few centuries.

We had met several years ago when both of our Patrons tried to send us to kill the same guy. After a few misunderstandings, we laughed the whole thing off and had been friends ever since. We had both saved each other's lives so often that we would come recruit the other for help without even thinking. I had debated bringing Sam with me to Arctis Tor, but he rarely dealt with the fae, and limited exposure was almost always a good thing where Sidhe are concerned.

A great crash echoed from somewhere in the mansion, and muffled cursing followed shortly afterward. I smiled to myself. Sam reappeared shortly after, dressed in a black t-shirt and jeans, with a loose, knee-length leather jacket thrown over it. His shirt read, in red letters, "Bite Me."

I laughed about that on and off the entire way to the Red Court's headquarters. Sam lived by the idea that if you had to go into dark places and confront horrific nightmares straight out of the twisted imaginings of humanity's darkest possible ideas and myths, it was best to laugh at them.

We rode in his car, which was also ridiculously nice. I hoped my magic would burn out the stereo. Still not jealous.

"Jay, I get what we're doing, I get why we're doing it, and I'm all for killing the bastards, but is kicking in the front door a good idea?" I frowned and shrugged.

"It's the only way to get what I need. I have to kill the people coming after my . . . responsibility, before they get another bite at the apple."

He glared at me. "You shut up. You shut the hell up with the puns. It is only funny when _I_ do it!"

I leaned back in the seat of his car, grinning smugly. Sam managed to maintain his glare for a full three seconds before we both started laughing. After we had finished laughing ourselves silly, I said, "I know, it's not ideal, but I can't be sure who among the Reds knows and who doesn't. Best to just kill all of them after I get the information I need."

He looked at me askance. "And how important is this 'Marion Roberts' you're responsible for?"

I shrugged. "Apparently very much so. I don't see how, but 'ours is not to wonder why, ours is but to do and die.'" Sam raised his fist silently in a show of brotherhood. We among the magically indentured servants considered the Light Brigade to be kindred spirits. "All I know is that my orders are to keep her safe."

He nodded sympathetically. We'd both been through the 'only get told what you need to know' routine by our Patrons. Suddenly he smirked. "Is she pretty?"

I rolled my eyes. "That's not what this is about and you know-" I stopped and sighed. He'd literally _never_ let this go. "Ah, to hell with it. Yeah, she's good looking."

Sam stared at me. "And you left her at your house. Alone. With the Red Court and possibly Winter hunting her down?"

I shifted uncomfortably in my seat. "It was all I could think of. I mean, I can't bring her with us, and you know my feelings about the best defense. Now, the threat will be eliminated for a much longer period of time."

Rolling his eyes, Sam remarked, "For a self-proclaimed coward, you sure are a bloodthirsty bastard." He sighed. "Any idea why your boss wants you to keep her safe for just two weeks? Seems a bit…" He thought for a moment, "Insufficient."

I shrugged, "No idea, man. I'm just a pawn in this game."

Sam parked his car a block away from the Red Court's building. We both got out and walked to the door. It was honestly one of the most innocuous buildings I had ever seen in my life. If anything, it looked too normal. Something was off.

I narrowed my eyes and really focused on the building itself. There was definitely some sort of spell on the building, a 'don't even bother looking here, nothing interesting to see' sort of mental influence. Anyone who passed wouldn't even see the building, unless they had some specific business there that made them concentrate enough to pierce the illusion.

It was clever, subtle magic; which only worried me more. Something with that kind of talent would be a heavy hitter in the magic department. Suddenly, the kicking in of doors didn't seem so wise. I turned to Sam and said, "New plan, we try diplomacy."

"Meet and greet the monsters?" he snorted. "Fine, let's just get it over with so negotiations can fall apart and we can all go back to violence." He glanced at me askance. "Knowing you, it's gonna happen before negotiations can even begin."

I glared at him. "Hey, it could be different this time. You don't know."

Sam smirked knowingly. "Just please try not to get me killed. I was gonna get an addition built on to the armory."

"Shut up, Sam."


	5. Wait, What?

Chapter Five

**Author's Note: Well girls and boys, today is my birthday, and since the last two chapters were a bit shorter than usual, and I'm in a good mood, here's Chapter Five. We're back to actiony-action in this chapter, so I hope you all enjoy the antics of our violent protagonist.**

Red Court bordellos could, in my opinion, be counted among the most disturbing buildings on the face of the Earth. I don't know what normal humans felt when they entered, but the foul aura of vampires rolled over my magical perception like a wave of sewer water. I felt tainted just walking through the front door. Just the feeling of their presence made me want to vomit. The edifice itself was high class, with crystal chandeliers and blood red carpets. The front room seemed like a sort of welcoming area, and featured several plush couches, all of which faced a rather large and ornate desk. There was an elevator set into the left hand wall. Directly across from it was what looked like a hotel hallway, with several rooms lining the walls of what small bit I could see.

A petite woman sat behind the desk, shuffling papers and making marks in an open book next to them. She looked up at the sound of our entrance and smiled dazzlingly. "Come in, come in! Please, take a seat; I'll be with you in a moment." Her eyes were . . . wrong. She was definitely off, and, despite her smile, her blank eyes stared at me with the careless study of a predator. Ten to one, she was a vampire. I quickly focused my eyes on her nose. No way in hell did I want to see whatever it was that lay in the soul of that _thing. _Assuming of course it even _had_ a soul.

Sam and I sat on the edge of a couch. I felt my eyelid twitch. I would never be counted among the more sensitive kinds of wizards, those who felt the energies and emotions that permeated their environments more intensely than others, but even to my weak perception, the whole place positively _stank_ of misery and soul-crushing despair. Above the hopelessness I could feel a tone of counterpoint, a malignant sort of glee. That, I assumed, would be the vampires. They delighted in that beaten down sort of despair, cultivated it like a fine wine, and eventually would taste its rich flavor in the blood of those too used to continue generating revenue. From what I'd read of Kemmler the Necromancer, he'd had the Nazis do something similar. Without the blood-drinking, of course.

I'd seen it all before. The Reds were leeches attached to humanity. My fingers clenched, and my eyes narrowed. I was seriously considering taking on whatever magical talent they had here and damn the consequences. Sam's hand gripped my shoulder and he shook his head slowly. I hissed out a breath between my teeth. In that moment, I wanted nothing more than to let loose every last bit of magic at my disposal, to tear this building down to its foundation. But I couldn't.

Sam was right; there was no way we could take on every single Red here. I forced my hands to unclench and took a deep breath. Sam gently squeezed my shoulder and turned to look away while I tried to compose myself. It was a guy thing.

The receptionist broke the silence. "Sorry for the wait, gentlemen." We walked up to the desk and listened with feigned politeness as she extolled the virtues of the establishment's "services".

She smiled at us at the end of her pitch and asked, "What tickles your fancy today?"

I barely suppressed a snarl. "We're not here for pleasure, just business."

Her megawatt smile dimmed a little. "Oh. I see. Well, the proprietor isn't taking any visitors at this time. If you'd like, I could make an appointment?" She phrased the last as a question, looking at us hopefully.

I'd had enough. I wanted _out _of this place. More than that, I was barely suppressing the urge to kill every non-human thing in the building, and this smiling monster was reminding me precisely why I wanted to do so. I leaned forward on the desk, hands placed flat on the smooth wood. "Listen to me very carefully. Right now, I want to talk. If we walk through that door, I will return shortly, and then I will no longer be willing to reasonably settle this issue." A whisper of power entered my amulet, and the runes around the edge glowed with a baleful heat. "Am I understood?"

She glared at me hatefully. "Your kind isn't welcome here."

I pulled my lips back over my teeth. "Neither is yours."

The stare down continued for almost a full minute before she blew out a reluctant sigh and picked up the phone. I could hear the sudden burst of static through the receiver. Score one for the spiteful wizard. She jabbered away with whoever was on the other end of the line in a language I couldn't even begin to identify, much less understand. A voice, made unidentifiable by the phone's interference, replied in what I assumed to be the same tongue. The receptionist winced at the volume and sighed quietly. When the voice finished, she replied with a few clipped words and hung up.

Her empty eyes looked up at us with hate, and she practically spat her words at me. "The proprietor will see you. Take the elevator up to the top floor."

I smiled without feeling. "Excellent. Thank you for your time."

She hissed at our backs as we passed, but the doors to the elevator slid open nonetheless. I hit the button for the fourth floor, and Sam exhaled a breath I hadn't known he'd been holding. "That was real smooth, man, just smooth as damn silk." His hands came away from the pockets of his jeans, and I grinned. Sam was always prepared.

I raised an eyebrow and asked, "What's in those, by the by?"

He pulled out several small vials filled with what looked like water. Tiny flakes of metal floated in the liquid. "Holy water blessed by a priest, with silver suspended in the solution."

I whistled lowly. "Nice. Though I don't think the silver will work unless it's inherited. And even then, probably not very well against Red Court vamps. I'll have to go read up on it. How many of those do you have?"

He looked disturbed at my information. "Dammit all. I can't believe I wasted all that money on silver." He shook his head sadly. "And, for your information, I have a few gallons of blessed water at home. I'm carrying five vials. So please, please, try and keep this civil. We can't kill them all."

I snapped my fingers in sudden remembrance, hoping to avoid the subject. "That's right; I was going to tell you! Those iron filings, they totally worked. Saved my ass in Arctis Tor."

Sam looked at me questioningly, though the dark cast to his face let me know he hadn't let the matter drop completely. Luckily for me his curiosity outweighed his pseudo-fraternal instinct. "What did you end up doing with them?"

A grin curled its way across my face, "I threw them right in a Sidhe's smug prick face."

We laughed all the rest of the way up to the vampire's office.

The doors slowly slid open on what looked more like a bedroom than an office. The room was dominated by a massive four poster bed, upon which were a man and two young girls. They were, ah, occupied. Vigorously. I turned my eyes to the ceiling, clasping my hands in front of my waist. Sam stared for a moment and tilted his head to the side, a look of bafflement on his face. I heard him whisper to himself, "How is that even . . . ?"

I reached over and smacked the back of his head. Sam looked at me, annoyed, and returned to trying to understand the rather . . . strenuous acrobatics that were taking place in front of him.

I took some time to observe the rest of the room. It was––well, opulent was not a strong enough word. Everything, from the wood floors to the gilded portraits and paintings on the walls, screamed of wealth and the willingness to spend it. The ceiling was positively cavernous. Beside the in-use bed was a small writing desk with a large filing cabinet to its side. A thin bookshelf sagged under the weight of dozens of massive tomes. I tried to read the titles from a distance, but only a few were large enough to see, and only one of those I recognized. It was a treatise on the detrimental effects of magical energy on technology. This was high level stuff; things many full wizards had trouble understanding. I gulped in nervousness.

The only thing that was truly incongruous with the rest of the space was what looked like a fanned out display of coins on the desk. I could see they were definitely old; one even had a thick layer of tarnish on it. U.S. quarters hadn't used real silver in the minting process since… A long, long, time ago. Apparently we were dealing with a vampire coin collector. Great. The eccentric ones were always the most dangerous.

A minute passed in silence. Well, silence from us at least. Without warning, the moans and little gasps of pleasure turned to screams of abject horror. My eyes whipped back to the bed, already halfway considering just throwing diplomacy out the window and flinging lightning at the problem until it went away.

One of the girls had fastened her teeth on the neck of the young man, and he was, within a second, deathly pale. Little rivulets of blood ran down his bare chest, waste from the vampire's feeding. It stained the sheets and covers of the bed a deep crimson where it fell, and his agonized gurgling brought forth a few small trickles from his mouth. Within five seconds, he was dead. The other girl screamed and tried to back away, but fell off the edge of the bed, tangled in the sheets. The vampire was on her in less than a second, pinning her to the floor. She crooned to the girl softly, her few words indecipherable. The vampire brought the girl's arm to her mouth and a tongue that had no business fitting in a human sized mouth slithered from between her lips, gently caressing the terrified girl's flesh.

Her screams stopped immediately, and a glassy look clouded her eyes. A beatific smile broke out at the vampire's touch and she closed her eyes slowly, savoring the sensation. The vampire smiled coldly and let the girl drop to floor. She didn't even notice, so lost was she in the narcotic bliss of the creature's saliva. A bit of the man's blood was smeared on her arm from the vampire's kiss. The rest was still staining the white skin around the creature's mouth.

Sam and I stood completely still as the vampire rose from her crouch to stand. "Gentlemen," she murmured softly, "My name is Clara; how can I help you?"

For once, Sam took the conversational lead. For all his cheer and outgoing nature, Sam absolutely _hated_ having to be social with strangers. But he knew of my prejudice against vampires and apparently wanted a peaceful solution. I had no idea why. The careful application of violence would get us the same results. "Madam, we're here to negotiate with you. We believe you have something we want, and we're willing to entertain offers for its acquisition." The vampire's eyes flitted briefly to her desk.

She moved her eyes back to us so quickly I couldn't be sure I'd really seen her glance. The vampire laughed raucously, "I wasn't expecting such humor today. The sheep come into the den so they can negotiate with the wolves! But speak your peace, mortal, and I shall decide what to do with you." A small smile tugged at the edges of Clara's mouth. "Who knows, you may even enjoy it."

I didn't bother to hide my disgust. "I'm here representing The Morrigan," Sam looked over at me, eyes wide, "and her interests. My lady wishes me to request the end of hostilities against the human Marion Roberts." I could see her eyes narrow slightly at the name. "Good, you know who I mean. She was recently remanded to my care by our mutual employer. As I understand it, your agents have been hunting her. That ends now." My friend's eyes were about as wide as they could go, and I knew he thought I had overplayed my hand ridiculously.

I was being stupid and I knew it. No vampire would take such insults without retribution. To be perfectly honest, I was letting my emotions run my mouth, provoking her needlessly. Her perfect lips pressed into a thin line, and I could almost hear the kettle of her indignation start to boil. "And what will you do if I don't accede to your demands?"

I shrugged with a near-biblical amount of disregard. "I guess I'll have to kill you. Frankly, I'm sort of excited about that option, one less Red in the world and all that." Sam frantically moved to stand a bit in front of me, his hands raised in an attempt to scale down what was beginning to look like a fight in the making.

"Please forgive my friend here, he often _forgets_" He turned to glare at me briefly, "His manners."

Clara laughed. "I understand entirely, though I'd recommend you invest in a leash. Perhaps I should converse with you, then? You seem much less…" She searched for the right word. "Homicidal."

Sam smiled uneasily. "Yes, well, even so I share my rude friend's stance on our request. All we ask is that you cease sending your people in search of the mortal."

The vampire's eyes darkened. "And what, pray tell, will you give me in return?" She strode towards my friend, her rolling gait practically radiating sensuality. Clara stopped just out of reach and said, in a voice like smooth velvet, "Perhaps we could come to a mutually… beneficial arrangement."

I trusted my friend. Sam had saved my life more times than I cared to count, and I had done the same for him. But he had absolutely no sense in his blonde head when it came to sex. I wasn't legitimately concerned, but I also wasn't quite sure as to how he'd react, and I wasn't about to sabotage our already tenuous negotiation by stepping in and belittling him.

I needn't have worried. A look of sharp disgust flashed across his face, before he schooled it into a neutral mask. "Sorry, but I'm afraid such an arrangement is not in the cards."

Clara pretended to pout. "That's too bad. I'm afraid I can't think of anything else you could possibly give me that would outweigh the reward I've been promised for the capture of your precious mortal." She bared her teeth at us, and I could clearly see the fangs. I had been wrong before; Tharesh hadn't had anything on these. She continued, still in the same sensuous voice, "Since you seem to know so much about the matter, perhaps I should keep you around to ask a few questions." Clara's smile stretched wider, until it was far beyond the limits of a human face.

It was a good thing most wizards, myself included, have long since perfected the art of looking someone in the face without looking at their eyes; it left me able to pay more attention to my peripheral vision. Her hand moved with blinding speed, and I felt the telltale disturbance of another practitioner summoning up energy.

Power flooded into my amulet, and the familiar shimmering half dome of heat haze sprang up in front of me. Sam's purely physical reflexes were leagues above my own, and he had already thrown himself out of the line of fire, one hand retrieving a vial of his holy water from a pocket. Not a moment too soon, for her spell quickly resolved its construction into a violent torrent of . . . something. It looked like she had colored a force spell. I felt it smash against my shield, and smiled. She could put a lot of energy behind her spells, sure, but it was sloppy work. The force hit me like a wave, and its impact was spread across the breadth of my shield. This was a self-taught amateur, not a trained professional. She probably didn't even understand half of the book on technology-magic interactions I had spotted earlier. The spell coating the outside of the building had to be the work of someone with more experience. Or a very lucky attempt on her part.

To be entirely fair though, she had a lot more raw power than I did. If she'd had the experience and formal training I'd had, Clara could have torn me in half. As it stood, however… Self-taught amateurs rarely prevail in my line of work.

I shifted the angle of my shield, redirecting the rest of her blast of kinetic force into the wall. It didn't even punch a hole in the wood, spread as wide as it was. I reached with my magic for the runes in the sleeve of my coat. The spell broke and the familiar steel of my scepter slid into my hand. I dropped my shield and slammed power into my scepter. "_Tintreach!" _I yelled out, and a sparking blue bolt of electricity spat from the steel in my hand towards the vampire.

With inhuman agility, Clara dodged the bolt, letting it smash into the wood paneling behind her. She landed with catlike grace, and raised her hand to prepare another bolt of force when Sam's thrown vial of holy water impacted against her shoulder.

Brilliant white flames ignited her flawless skin, and she screamed in a pitch that no human throat could ever produce. Sam and I both clutched at our ears, desperately trying to block out the agonizing noise. The fire spread down the entirety of Clara's arm, burning away every bit of the skin covering her natural form. Rubbery black flesh flailed frantically, trying to extinguish the fire before it burned through her further. She needn't have bothered. Disconnected from its source of faith, holy water and other such implements held very little power. The fire guttered out as quickly as it had ignited, and her otherworldly screech ended with it.

Sam didn't wait for her to make another move, drawing a pistol from the waist of his jeans. He fired off three rounds in quick succession, and two of them struck true, hitting the vampire in her torso. The third buried itself in the wall to the right of her head. Clara didn't even stop, instead flinging herself towards my friend. I couldn't unleash any magic at her; she was too close to Sam, and I was never good at the incredibly precise targeting kind of combat magic. Fortunately for us both, Sam's magically aided reflexes were faster than any vampire's, and he easily stepped around and behind the leaping creature. Grabbing another vial of holy water, he smashed it between her back and the palm of his hand. Clara pitched forward, writhing as the phosphorescent flame burned through her flesh mask. The glass shards from the vial didn't even break Sam's skin.

Looking down at her frantically twisting body, Sam said, "Yeah, none of that." Then, taking careful aim, he shot her in the head. He replaced his gun with practiced efficiency and turned to check on the still euphoric girl on the floor, all in one motion.

"Sam, no!" I yelled, "She's not dead!"

He whirled around to see the bullet he had fired into Clara's head push itself out of her skull and clatter to the floor. The holy water had burned another large patch out of her flesh mask, scorching the rubbery flesh beneath, and she leapt to her feet before pouncing at Sam. My friend stumbled backwards, desperately trying to put distance between himself and the vampire.

I had no choice. I uttered a quick prayer to whoever might be listening, screamed out "_Teann!_" and flung a lance of force at Clara. She twisted in midair in an attempt to avoid it, but one of her legs was caught by the edges of the spell, sending her tumbling. The rest of it carried on its trajectory and smashed into the wall, utterly pulverizing the wood and then cracking the concrete behind it.

Clara managed to turn her tumble into a landing, and as her feet touched the floor, I yelled, "_Tintreach!_" Lightning shot towards her, and there was no way she was dodging this time. Instead she spat out a few syllables in a guttural voice and a shield sprang up between her and the bolt. The impact was thunderous, and the meeting of the two forces sent out a shock wave of such potency that it knocked those of us of a human persuasion onto our backs. As I hit the ground I felt my scepter jarred out of my hand, spinning through the air to land, clattering, against the wall.

Clara was on me in a flash, her weight pinning me halfway up my torso. I could see Sam struggling to get back on his feet from the corner of my eye. He was bleeding from a cut on his scalp, and his movements were unusually sluggish.

The vampire smacked me in the face with much greater power than could have been achieved by human strength, and I could taste blood in my mouth. An idea struck me. An impossible, insane, and hopefully -if I understood Red Court biology properly- workable, idea. "Your friend's water tired me out; I suppose I'll just have to take every last drop of your blood to feel _alive_ again," she hissed. "Tell me, how does it feel, knowing that you're going to die?" I spat my blood in her face.

Without missing a beat, Clara scooped up as much of my blood as she could with one finger and slowly licked it clean. She shivered in pleasure and let out a contented sigh. I smiled grimly. "Amateurs."

"And what do you mean by that, dead man?"

My grin widened into a manic rictus. "I mean that you're an amateur who made a stupid mistake." I had her hooked now, she had to know. I wiped a bit of blood from the corner of my mouth, smearing it on my fingertips. "Never give a wizard a thaumaturgic link to something inside of you. You frigging idiot."

Her eyes widened with realization, and she drew a hand back to crush my skull. But it was too late. I focused on the blood coating my fingers, and then to the bit of my blood I could feel inside her stomach. This was going to be messy as all hell. "_Teann!_"

An aimless burst of kinetic force tore her stomach apart. If I'd had more time, I would have done something more artful, but frankly I'd settle for effective over stylish any day. It started small, but grew with amazing speed, the force expanding through the reservoir of blood all Reds keep in their stomach, into the tissues surrounding it. They stretched to accommodate the force, but it just kept expanding. Small tears appeared here and there, nothing too serious, but the force kept pushing outwards. Small tears became large tears, large tears became wounds, and eventually those wounds split her stomach open like an exploding tomato. And it all happened in less time than it took for her to lower her hand.

A shower of stolen blood washed over me. I had made sure to close my mouth before casting the spell, but the sticky red liquid found its way everywhere else. Luckily, most of it hit my face and the wall behind me, not my clothes. Regardless, I was still going to have a massive dry cleaning bill before this was all said and done. The thick stench of it was enough to have me gagging on air for a moment.

I levered the dying vampire's torso off of me, dumping her unceremoniously on the floor. She wasn't quite dead yet, but without her store of blood, she'd be completely helpless, and would die very quickly. It'd be a mercy to finish her off now. I wasn't feeling too merciful. Wiping her filched blood out of my eyes, I staggered up to my feet. A low muttering was coming from Clara's already failing lungs. It sounded almost like a spell, but I quickly discounted the idea. There was no buildup of energies around the vampire. Probably just in denial about her impending demise.

This was definitely not as bad as the last time I'd tried to take on something significantly more than human. All of my bones were still in their proper place, and I hadn't picked up a new obligation. The still drugged out girl on the floor let out a small sigh of contentment, oblivious to the violence that had just taken place.

Oh wait, yeah, I had picked up more obligations.

With a sigh, I motioned for Sam to take care of her. He knew at least a little medicine and first aid. I was lucky to comprehend what limb was what. Time was very limited, but I took a few seconds to grab the corner of a wall-hung tapestry and wipe the rest of the blood off of my face.

While my friend saw to the zoned out woman, I walked over to Clara's file cabinet. Most Red Court these days went in for electronic record keeping, but someone with Clara's power and lack of control would turn a computer into a shrieking pile of slag in minutes. Of course, the cabinet was locked. I chuckled under my breath a little as a whisper of power sheared the padlock in half. I was in luck, it seemed that the files within were solely based around local persons of interest to the Court. I flipped through them rapidly, searching for my charge's name. Finally I found her file, a slim green folder.

I yanked Marion's file out of the drawer and removed all the papers within. Folding the packet in half, I stuffed it in the pocket of my coat, intending to read the documents later. I was just turning to leave when a name caught my eye, my own.

It was printed on the tab of a scarlet red folder, and when I pulled it from the drawer, I could feel that it was about the size of a medium-length novel. I was just about to skim the first page when Sam walked up behind me and smacked the back of my head. "Augh! Don't do that when I'm reading! You scared the hell out of me." In my surprise, I had dropped the file and the papers scattered everywhere.

His angry look silenced my further complaints. "What the _fuck_ was that?"

I could only respond with puzzlement. "Wha-?"

Another silencing glare. "You overplayed our hand and insulted the woman in the same breath. Did you want to die, or are you just stupid?"

"Sam, she was Red Court, the chances were she would try and kill us –or worse- the second I mentioned Mary."

"And that gives you an excuse to try and provoke a wizard level vampire?!"

"Hey! That woman was an _apprentice_ at best!"

"News flash, I don't give a-!" We both stopped shouting immediately as the elevator's cheery warning ding sounded throughout the blood spattered room. A horrified look passed between us. Sam and I both ran our eyes over the room, desperately searching for another exit. Unless we wanted to jump out the window, there was none.

Whispering now, Sam said, "Kill them in the elevator, then we get the hell out of here."

I nodded, "Couldn't agree more." The floor number indicator was rising. Two to go. "Hey, I'm sorry about earlier."

Sam shook his head, drawing his pistol. "It's fine. I'm sorry I… Doesn't matter." We moved to opposite sides of the room and trained our weapons on the elevator doors.


	6. We Done Goofed

**Author's Note: Short chapter be short. Due to the... moving-things-along nature of this chapter, I'll be posting Seven a bit early. It has more plot execution, less plot preparation.**

Chapter Six

Sam cleanly reloaded his handgun, before resting its sight once again on the elevator doors. I wish I had the same sense of calm. My scepter was wavering a bit in my shaking hands, and I could feel my palms growing slick with sweat. The elevator was just a floor away now. I tried to breathe calmly, hoping that I could get myself to the cool serenity I sometimes felt in the midst of combat. It wouldn't come, I could only stand and wait for whatever was coming after us.

Of course, the real threat wasn't so much what was in the elevator. The threat was one of discovery. If the Reds found out what had transpired here, the entire brood would swoop down on us. We needed to get out before that could happen and right now our chances of that weren't looking so good. Honestly, will all the eldritch forces being flung about, and the screams of our former host, I was surprised someone hadn't investigated earlier. It was probably a good thing I was so scared, or the coppery tang of blood in my nose would have made me puke by now. I couldn't escape it; even after I tried to wipe my face clean, the scent was utterly pervasive.

Thinking about the vile reek brought it to the forefront of my mind. Suddenly, it was more than a mere scent. The sensation of being covered in it was all I could feel. The wet popping of the vampire's stomach was all I could hear. I could see only the brief glimpse I had gotten of her blood reservoir bursting, a tide of crimson spilling forth like a tsunami, before I had shut my eyes. My breathing quickened, and I could feel my heart pounding. What if it never came off? What if I had to go around, smelling that horrific copper burn in my nostrils for the rest of my life? Already it was almost too much to bear. I was almost hyperventilating, and I was sure my eyes were wild with panic. I brought my free hand up to my face, and rubbed desperately at the skin underneath my nose. My hand came back clean, there was no blood there.

I spiraled deeper into whatever madness had taken hold of my mind. The hand holding my scepter shook harder, and I could barely hold on to the metal, much less aim it competently. I was sweating rivers, and even though I breathed at a sprint, I couldn't get any air. There just wasn't enough of it.

In the midst of my panic, a small part of my mind, one that wasn't gibbering in terror and disgust, calmly considered the mess I had gotten myself in. This wasn't natural, not in any way. A coward I may be, but I wasn't anything like this normally. My empty hand reached for the amulet around my neck, my outstretched fingers trembling with the effort. The smooth edges slid into my grip, and I clutched at the round disc of silver with all my might. The simple warmth I had enchanted it with washed through my entire body.

I threw myself into that comforting warmth, some animal instinct sending me scurrying to the only safety I could find. Slowly, far slower than I would have liked, I felt the terror recede. The false senses faded gradually. Once I was able to think without the stench of blood obscuring my mind, I was struck by a sudden suspicion. I poured my will into the amulet, and the usual hazy shield sprang into existence. Instantly I felt my breathing normalize, and my heart begin to slow. The feeling of blood coating my face was gone, and my shaking hands grew still.

I exhaled in relief. Whatever it was that had been flung at me was a doozy. It must have been something in the blood. Either that or Clara had gotten off a death curse, which with her level of raw power would have snuffed me out like a candle.

I had recovered just in time. The elevator arrived at our floor, yet another cheerful ding announcing its presence. I slowly loosened my grip on the amulet, and didn't feel the panic returning. Heat from my amulet slowly radiated out of my body, and I breathed slowly as the shield faded out of reality. Another deep breath and I felt like some semblance of normal once again.

The doors slid open, and I almost threw lightning out of sheer surprise. A man in a grey cloak stepped out of the doors, followed by the petite secretary from downstairs. He was shorter than I, but much more muscular. His grey eyes stared out from sunken sockets, and his full beard gave the impression of a very tired owl. He was pale, but not in 'ooh-fashionable' way some people seemed to be striving for these days. He was pale in the more traditional, unwell sense. The two had evidently been in the midst of an argument, but all conversation died when they saw the state of the room. The exploded body of the vampire made a striking centerpiece to the carnage.

The secretary screamed in terror. Everyone's a critic. She collapsed to the floor, sobbing, and that right there told me I had been wrong in my original assessment. She was no vampire, just another poor girl the Reds had made into an all too willing slave. A true vampire would probably have attacked us by now. The Warden, however, was much more interesting.

Well, he could be just a guy wearing a grey cloak and a sword, but I doubted the likelihood of that. His hand rested easily on the pommel of the sword at his waist, and his sunken eyes surveyed the carnage with the cold detachment of a veteran. With a start, I realized that he still had full color in his hair and beard. Either he dyed it, or he was far younger than he looked. Those eyes did not belong in a young man's face, and I found his piercing gaze was starting to be a little unnerving. Immediately I let my scepter slide back into its place in the sleeve of my coat. Brandishing weapons at a Warden was a good way to get turned inside out.

His voice was quiet, but with a hint of steel. "Well, well, well. What have we here, hmm?"

I cleared my throat. "Nothing that should concern you, Sir Warden. We were just leaving, in fact." I made to walk towards him, but stopped the second I saw him begin to draw the sword from its sheath. I raised my hands in supplication, taking a step back "There's no need for that." He seemed to be mollified by my retreat, and gently let his sword slide back into its sheath.

He looked at me with his cold eyes and I wondered at precisely how fast he could kill me. "I'll be the judge of that. Tell me your names and what you did here. And be quick about it, I can't take much more of her blubbering." He jerked a thumb at the crying secretary.

My mouth felt dry. "My name is Jason Stewart, and this is-"

He silenced me with an upraised hand. "He can speak for himself."

Sam had his gun pointed towards the ground, but I could see his finger was resting just outside the trigger guard. "Sam," he replied tersely.

The Warden's eyes narrowed. "You're going to give me more than that." It wasn't a question.

"No. I'm not." Sam's voice was positively glacial.

The wizard's hand tightened on the hilt of his blade, and Sam's entire body tensed. Except for the secretary's sobbing, all was quiet. The Warden's eyes met Sam's and both pairs widened. I had never seen a soulgaze from the outside before. It took a few brief moments, and then it was over. The Warden looked no different at the end than he had at the beginning, though I could see a thin sheen of sweat on Sam's face. "Okay then," said the wizard.

Never breaking eye contact with Sam, the Warden pointed towards the corpse with his free hand. "Do you two have any idea what you've done?"

"Killed a vampire?" I asked cautiously. The grey eyes snapped to me.

"You killed an emissary. This vampire was helping negotiate another ceasefire. When they find out she was killed by a wizard, and make no mistake, they will, it's going to cost _lives_. You didn't just kill a vampire; you may have killed a whole bunch of innocent people. Did you even think about what the consequences of your actions could be?" He didn't give me time to answer. Quite frankly, I doubted I could have come up with anything good enough if I had been given days to think on it.

His eyes held me in place, almost as effectively as my guilt. "Now you're going to tell me just who in the hell you are, why you were here, and why you," he pointed at me, "are not registered with the council, and it had better be good. If it's not, I just might skewer you here and now and deliver your heads to the vampires."

"I'm an independent practitioner, and for what it's worth, I'm sorry. I didn't know about this particular monster's importance." My tone was so sincere, even I wasn't sure if I was being sarcastic or not. It's not like I didn't regret hurting the chances for peace but… I had killed a monster. There were people alive now who would stay that way longer because I had ended Clara. Of course, there were also people who would have lived longer and were now doomed. Either way, I had killed an inhuman creature that sustained itself on the life of others. I just couldn't bring myself to feel anything other than fleeting regret.

I guess, when it really came down to the bottom line, the only thing that mattered was if I had saved more lives than I had inadvertently murdered. I'll never know. I pushed the thought from my mind. I'd deal with this problem when I wasn't horrifyingly busy.

"We came here to negotiate the cessation of hostilities against a friend. Clara here," I motioned towards the corpse, "Was not a fan of that idea. She attacked us, and we killed her. I didn't come here intending to do it, and I wish it hadn't come to this." I wondered at the veracity of that. While I didn't particularly intend to kill _this_ vampire, I had come intending to eliminate _some_ vampires.

The Warden sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Get out. I can see you're telling the truth. I'll give you clemency for good intentions. Once. If I see you engaged in anything even remotely suspicious again after today, you _will_ answer to the White Council." His eyes bored into mine. "And regardless of any of that, don't think I've forgotten your status, Mr. Stewart. I'll be dropping by to see just how you avoided registration." There was no threat in his voice, only a statement of fact.

All those years, successfully avoiding the attentions of the Council's band of enforcers, shot to hell in one day. I'd be forced to join at the least, possibly executed at the worst.

The weeping secretary managed to pull herself together. She rose to her feet and pointed a shaking finger in my direction. "This is your fault!"

A sharp retort was on the tip of my tongue, but I choked it back. She was a victim here, and wasn't responsible for what she said. "Go home." She looked ready to attack me, but before she could say anything else, the Warden whispered a quiet word and she slumped to the ground, asleep.

Taking the hint, Sam and I beat a quick retreat, getting ourselves to the elevator without engaging the Warden in further conversation.

**For the record, the Warden shown here is meant to be a foil to our "intrepid" hero. In case I ballsed up the presentation. In response to the question, no, this is not Morgan. Morgan's off doing war shit right now, according to the book timelines.  
**


	7. That Seems Odd

Chapter Seven

**As promised, you get an early chapter this week. I'm cutting into my buffer a bit, but I think it'll hold. In any case, I don't anticipate this becoming a deadfic. I have a definite end in mind, the only problem is getting from where I am now, to where I want to be then. Read on, ye princes of men, read on.**

"Kill some vampires, you said! We're gonna be Big Damn Heroes, you said!"

I rubbed at the bridge of my nose. "I'm sorry. Sam, I don't know what's going on. All I know is that this is going a lot deeper than I first imagined. I'm not sure what the right thing to do anymore is."

I slumped against the side of the elevator. Sam wasn't done, however. "Did you even think to check on what we were up against? Do you just not care?"

"I didn't know, Sam. I swear I had no idea. I just wanted to-"

Sam cut me off with an angry gesture. "To _what_? Be the hero? Save the day, kill the monster?" He shook his head in disgust. "You've dragged me into some serious shit before, and I've done the same to you, but this is on an entirely different level."

"Sam, I-" I didn't have the right words. No eloquent riposte, no cutting diatribe.

He shook his head. "There's nothing you can say. I helped you of my own free will; I'm just as responsible for everyone who dies because of what we just did. If it works out, it works out, but if not, then it's my fault." Sam slammed his fist into the wall of the elevator, leaving a shallow dent in the metal. He shook his head and exhaled slowly. Responsibility had always weighed heavily on my friend. That, more than anything else, was probably why he lived alone in that huge house. If he let others in close enough, he was afraid he'd fail them.

The rest of the elevator ride passed in silence. I just didn't know what to say. Sam was right, of course. But, despite the ethical problems presented by my victory, I had at least managed to accomplish the primary objective. The local vampires didn't have a record of Mary anymore. In a coldly selfish sort of way, the excursion had been a success.

To be fair, the higher-ups would likely still hunt her, but it was only my concern for another thirteen days. I immediately winced a bit at precisely how selfish that sounded, even in my head.

The farther I fell into this insane mess, the more befuddled I became. If The Morrigan wanted her safe, then why not simply take Mary back into her own domain and put more restrictions on her? Why were the Reds so vigorously pursuing an otherwise normal girl? Hell, for that matter, why was my Patron so damned interested in the first place? Questions on top of questions.

And likely to be no answers. Most tasks given out by The Morrigan made absolutely no sense from start to finish. The elevator's shuddering halt at the ground floor broke my introspection. The door's slowly slid open, and wouldn't you know it, yet another complication.

A man dressed in what looked like combat fatigues, and holding a sword roughly the size of 'far too large to be near me,' sat in the receptionist's chair, his feet on her desk. He looked over his shoulder, grinned at the sight of us, and sprang up out of the chair. "Gentlemen! How pleasant to make your acquaintance!"

Given that I was still liberally coated in dried blood, and Sam was, well, Sam, I doubted that. He bulled on, despite our silence. "Hi, I'm Lloyd Slate. And, sorry to say, I'm here to brutally murder you! As a side note, have you guys seen the hot secretary who was here a bit ago? Kind of tiny, looks dead inside? I wouldn't mind getting to know _her_ better after I eviscerate you. Help a brother out?"

Immediately I let my scepter slide into my hand and pointed it in his direction. I'd heard of Slate, no one even peripherally involved with the Sidhe hadn't. Frankly, if he was here to _just_ murder us, I'd consider it a blessing. "Sir Knight, I don't have anything against you professionally, and I've had a really long day. Maybe we could just reschedule this for a later time?"

His demented grin grew wider. "Sorry, buddy, orders from way up the food chain. 'Fraid we have to do this the old fashioned way. On top of that, I've been waiting _forever._ You two assholes are gonna have to go just to make up for my wasted time." He brought his massive sword up to rest on his shoulder far too easily for my liking.

"You absolutely positive about that? Because I have a pretty good incentive here for you to just turn around and walk away."

He smirked. "And that would be?"

"_Teann!_" The blast of force caught Slate on the upper part of his chest, blowing him clean over the desk and he, I kid you not, _bounced_ across the entryway floor. "Time to go, Sam!" Any other mortal I would have consigned to death after that bit of floor-head interaction. Not the Winter Knight. He was powerful in ways that I literally couldn't comprehend.

We sprinted away from the fallen Knight, heading down the side hallway. I could hear Slate cursing as he chased after us, but even with his enhanced qualities, we had a heavy lead. My feet pounded down on the carpeted floor, and I could hear my breath, deafening to my own ears. Terror had robbed me of my peripheral vision, and I could focus only on putting one foot in front of another as quickly as possible. Not so much that I was afraid of being killed by Slate. Don't get me wrong, death is pretty low on my to-do list, but when you're dealing with beings of fae, especially ones that work for Maeve, sometimes death is the better option. If he took me alive the things the Winter Lady would do to me in retaliation for my inadvertent defiance would make angels weep.

I took a moment to look back at our pursuer. That heavy lead I had been so assured of a moment ago was rapidly evaporating. And we were running out of hallway at an alarmingly fast rate. I moved my gaze forward and aimed the scepter over my shoulder in what I hoped was the direction of Slate, yelling "_Tintreach!_"

A bolt of crackling blue energy spat out from my shoulder and detonated in the hallway, blasting a large chunk out of the floor. Which was _not_ how lightning worked. I'd have to look into it later, when a complete lunatic wasn't chasing me.

Another curse came from Slate, who sounded more annoyed than pained. I turned my scepter forward, and with another yell, sent a lance of force into the door. Customers and employees both were starting to open the doors to their rooms, peering out at what all the ruckus was about. I hoped Slate didn't take out his wrath on them. Assuming of course, we escaped at all. However, at the sight of Sam's gun, and Slate's massive sword for that matter, they quickly retreated back into their rooms. That was probably the only thing that would save them if we lost.

The cheap wood shattered at the force of my onslaught, and I almost panicked when I saw the room we had retreated to. Not a single damn window. Lovely. Most of the room was bare, save for a small bed placed against the wall to the left of the door. Definitely not a high-roller suite. Sam saw the room's interior before he had even reached the threshold and quickly turned on his heel. Before I could say a word, he sprinted back down the hallway towards Slate. I had never really seen Sam take on anything in his own weight class or above with brute force. It would have been fascinating if I hadn't felt my heart in my throat. This wasn't shaking down some petty creature for failure to accede to The Morrigan's wishes, or killing small-time Red Court goons for whatever being Sam called Master. The Winter Knight was in the big leagues.

Slate yelled in savage joy, and swung his massive sword as best he could in the moderately cramped hallway. A line of frozen water followed the arc of his swing, before falling to the floor and shattering. Sam easily ducked under the hindered attack and straightened within Slate's reach. As massive as that sword was, there was no way he could bring it to bear at that distance. Sam sprang back up from his crouch, extending his arm in rabbit punch aimed right at the Knight's nose. A sickening crunch rang out, and blood sprayed from Slate's face. Sam brought his knee up into his adversary's stomach, bending him over double. Finally, he sunk back into a momentary crouch before shooting back up, his fist impacting cleanly on Slate's jaw.

Never one to fail at adding insult to injury, as his fist cleared Slate's face, Sam yelled, "SHORYUKEN!" In any other situation, I would've at least chuckled.

But Slate was not so easily defeated. On any mortal man blows of such speed and power likely would have shattered bones. On the Winter Knight they lightly stunned him and messed up some cartilage. He recovered far faster than any mortal could, cords of wiry muscle standing out in his arms. Moving quickly, Slate shifted his sword to one hand. With the other, he slugged the still airborne Sam in the gut. My friend hit the floor hard, his breath wheezing out from the powerful hit. Slate smiled down at him, "Someone here has to be the butch, and someone has to be the bitch. I think I know who's who. Three guesses buddy."

Sam didn't bother responding; instead he kicked straight out at the Knight's kneecap. Slate skittered back, but not fast enough to avoid the entirety of the blow. His knee was kicked straight, and with another kick to the chest, the Knight pitched backwards onto the ground, momentarily stunned. Sam leapt back to his feet, but before he could capitalize on his advantage, Slate did the same.

Sidling out of the sword's reach, Sam stared at his opponent. Slate only smiled wider. The temperature dropped at least ten degrees, and a cold light began to form in and around his hand. Whatever it was, I did not want any of it. Slate raised his hand, pointing a single finger at Sam like a judge delivering his sentence. Frost started to form on Sam's skin and clothes, and he started to slowly back away from Slate.

With a howl that sounded more like an arctic gale than a human voice, the Knight leapt at my friend. Sam dodged to the side, flattening himself against the wall and barely avoiding his aggressor, but Slate simply kept going, rushing towards me like a freight train. _Oh_, I thought._ Well shit._

Slate smashed into me with titanic force, hands extended and his blade all but forgotten on the floor. I tumbled back onto the ground, Slate's weight and force driving me down, the impact winding me severely. I choked on the air, trying to breathe. I could hear Sam shouting, and felt his footsteps vibrating the floor as he ran towards Slate. With a conspiratorial wink, Slate wheeled around and smashed the side of his fist in Sam's already wounded head in one smooth and superhumanly fast motion. If I had thought they were fast before, then Slate's sudden movement blew that entire idea out of the water. There wasn't so much a lack of time to dodge as there was a lack of time to _think._ The dull _thump_ of impact was loud in the enclosed space of the room, and the force of it sent my friend crashing into the wall.

The Winter Knight laughed in exhilaration, "Hot _damn,_ I love my job!" He exclaimed.

I groaned from the floor, "Yeah, I'll bet being Maeve's bitch has a great 401k."

He turned on me, but was still smiling. "Normally, I'd take offense at that and hurt you. But I'm just having way too much of a good time right now!" Suddenly his genial smile showed far more teeth. "We'll get to the hurting part later, don't you worry." He reached down and patted both outside pockets of my overcoat. I tried to focus enough willpower to form a spell, but for some reason, I would shiver violently every time I got close to pulling myself together and lose my concentration. Lloyd smiled down nastily at me. "Perk of the job. No magic for you, asshole, not when I'm this close. Now sit down and shut up, class is in session."

With that, he punched me in the torso with what felt like the head of a sledgehammer. I gasped out all the air in my lungs, _again_. He retrieved the folded packet of papers I had retrieved from Clara's office from my pocket. Unfolding them, he flipped through a few sheets, his eyebrows rising with every piece. "Well, whaddaya know? Your little gal pal was pretty important after all. No wonder Maeve sent me after you, after Tharesh cocked up what was gonna be a simple murder."

He sighed dramatically. "You just can't trust anyone to kill young women _properly _anymore, can you?"

My clever comeback dissolved into a hacking cough. Yep, that was about right for this situation. Slate hunkered down next to me and ran a hand through his hair. "I'm almost sad to have to kill you. I mean, just looking at the mess you made here, you've got some real potential. But you're batting in the majors now, kid. You strike out here, you strike out for good. I know, I know, Maeve wants her vengeance. But she wants competent people around even more. Maeve'll either break you to her will or kill you, and either way makes for a pretty useless thrall. It's just a matter of _when_ you get to shuffle off the mortal coil." That cold light I had seen around him earlier was dissipating now, losing its intensity. Maybe I could try some magic now. I dismissed the thought the instant it entered my mind. He'd just fire his power back up the second he sensed me gathering any kind of eldritch force.

Now, I am in no way a buff guy. I can kick some ass when required, but against anyone with serious training and even a little talent, I'd get the shit beaten out of me. However, that does not mean I am not tenacious when cornered. Since magic wasn't operable right now, that left me with the Neanderthal solution. I swung the solid steel of my scepter at the side of Slate's head. Faster than my eyes could track, he grabbed the inside of my wrist, stopping me dead in my tracks. Rolling his eyes, Slate twisted sharply, and I felt the reassuring weight of my scepter slide out of my suddenly limp fingers. "Seriously, the fuck even was that? I'm not even mad; I'm just _embarrassed_ for you."

"Your banter sucks." Slate turned just in time to see his own sword swinging at his head at a speed approaching that of sound. But even when he wasn't actively drawing on the power of his mantle, Slate was still inhumanly fast. He threw himself to the side, barely avoiding the shining blade.

But Sam was just as quick, and dropped the sword in favor of drawing his handgun. When Slate emerged from his roll, he found the barrel of the gun pointed steadily at his head. The right half of Sam's face was covered in blood from his successive head wounds, and I could see him trying to blink his eye clear of it. His gun never wavered. Regardless, Slate laughed mockingly, "That won't stop me. Unless you get a perfect headshot, I'll still be able to kill you both before I bleed out."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe. Maybe not. I'm a pretty damn good marksman; even with one reliable eye, I'll take the odds of me getting a perfect hit." Slate looked thoughtful.

I wasn't waiting around for him to take the chance. I staggered to my feet painfully, snatching up my focus from where it had fallen. "Sam!" I yelled. "We have to get going, like, right now!" I turned back to the far wall of the room, hoping the threat of being shot was enough to keep Slate off of me. I was fairly sure it was the side wall of the building, or at least it was very close. I took a deep, painful breath, and with the inhalation I sucked in as much magic as I could hold. Immediately my eyes watered, and I could feel pins and needles rush through my extremities. Leveling my scepter at the (I prayed) flimsy wall, I pushed every bit of magic I had into a single spell. "_Teann!_" I roared.

It was a sloppy spell at best. Not quite as bad as Clara, but not nearly up to my usual standards, either. At least a tenth of the energy I placed into the construct escaped as heat and light, but ninety percent of everything I had was a pretty potent bit of spellwork. A great chunk of the wall splintered outwards, before breaking open entirely. I was lucky this part of the bordello had been made with wood and brick exteriors, instead of the layer of concrete displayed in Clara's room. The bricks blew out into the alley between this building and the next; and pulped bits of wood paneling followed.

I looked back at our pursuer, and rather wished I hadn't. Slate was no longer smiling at Sam, now his countenance was fixed with a grimace of what I could only think of as a dark sort of hunger. I knew right then, that the stories I'd heard about his monstrous nature were true. He honestly didn't look like Slate anymore. He looked like something primal, something almost elemental. This... _thing_ would kill me and splash around in my blood simply because it could. Ice was beginning to form on the walls and floor around him again, and I could see the same cold light shining in his eyes. Definitely time to leave. Sam kept his gun trained on Slate all the way to the wall.

The drop was barely a foot, but I felt it like I had jumped out of the second story. My knees buckled out from underneath me, and fatigue threatened to keep me where I had landed. After the battle with Clara, and the frantic chase, I was about tapped out. Sam, bless his Herculean physique, grabbed my arm and hauled me back to my feet. Somehow, I found the strength to stagger on, and with Sam half supporting, half pulling me, we made it to his car. I collapsed into the passenger seat, and craned my neck to look out the back windshield. Slate was advancing toward us, sword back in his hand. Not at a run, but not at a crawl either.

Sam shoved his keys in the ignition and frantically brought the engine roaring to life. We sped away, doing well over the speed limit. Sam stopped only when we were well away from the bordello.

In the terror of the chase, all of our previous animosity was forgotten. "Are you okay?" Sam asked.

"Yeah," I replied, "I think so. How about you?"

Sam swallowed nervously. "I'm alright." He paused, and the silence stretched before us horribly for several interminable seconds. Suddenly he asked, "We're in deep shit, aren't we?"

**I'm basing the nature of the Winter Knight mantle on how Harry describes it in Cold Days. With some liberties, of course. However, the powers it gives are completely different, seeing as how Slate and Harry were different people. In my headcanon, the mantle adapts to best suit its current wielder. If the guy is magically talented, like Harry, it grants magical power, if not, like Slate, it helps level the playing field.**

**Next chapter on Sunday.**


	8. Just My Luck, I Guess

**Authorial Note: One last chapter of exposition before the good stuff begins. We're approaching endgame. Not gonna lie folks, I'm pretty excited. I have some really cool stuff in mind. Read on.**

Chapter Eight

Sam drove me home. On the way, we decided it would be best for him to crash at my house, but only after he had restocked. As his car drove away, I felt a sudden sense of vulnerability. I hurried inside my house. Being behind the threshold helped, but not by much. That didn't matter, I could freak out in paranoia later. First thing on the agenda was to have a thorough shower.

It was a good thing Mary was asleep; I didn't especially feel like explaining the crusting of blood on my face and in my hair. Instead I made it to the bathroom in peace, and thoroughly rid myself of the vampire's stolen blood. I clambered out of my shower and was drying my hair when I smelled it.

The coppery tang was back. I could taste Clara's blood in the back of my throat, and just like before, soon it was all I could think of. I looked down, and my hands were coated in red. It dripped down onto the floor, a slow pitter-patter just on the perceivable edge of hearing. I tried to suck in a breath, but the air was too thick, I just couldn't manage to get any oxygen. I grasped the edge of the sink, gasping for air. A small trickle of blessed life-giving air entered my lungs, before immediately being replaced by the burn of my need for more.

I raised my eyes to the mirror, and immediately wished I hadn't. Though I knew it wasn't real on some level, the sight that greeted me was…unpleasant. My eyes wept tears of blood, moving so quick that they made a solid trail of liquid, instead of individual drops. My nose and mouth were likewise occupied, a steady stream of red flowing down my chin. The reflected image started to laugh. I couldn't hear it, but seeing was plenty bad enough. Finally, I felt able to close my eyes, and even then I could still feel the hallucinatory trails of blood on my face.

I felt my legs give out slowly, and I slumped down to the tile floor, losing my grip on the sink. I opened my eyes, and I could see tiny rivulets of blood running from the spaces between wall tiles. More seeped in from where the walls met the floor and out of the corner of my eye I saw my sink overflow with it. It was slow at first, but quickly began to flow faster and faster, rivulets turning to rivers.

Wheezing in another meaningless breath, I scrabbled at the floor, desperately trying to reach my discarded pile of clothes. My vision was darkening, and with every second that passed the awful stench grew stronger in my nostrils. I was either going to drown on blood or on perfectly usable air.

Finally, my searching fingers found purchase between two of the floor tiles, and I inched myself forward, desperately trying to ignore the rising tide of blood coating the floor. I could see it covering my hands, but couldn't feel the sticky liquid as I watched my fingers plunge into the thin layer of scarlet fluid. For whatever reason, this part of the illusion was faulty.

Even with that small flaw in the curse, hallucination, whatever it was, I couldn't tell if what I was feeling was real or not. A small part of my brain that still functioned rationally knew that this wasn't real, that it couldn't be real. The vast majority of my senses cast alternate votes as to the nature of my situation. The thin coating of blood on the floor had risen up to my lips, and with every shuddering inhalation, I could _feel_ it in my mouth. I gagged, but there was nothing in my stomach to vomit out. My fingers found purchase in another gap between tiles, and I dragged myself forward a little more. My coat was in reach, mocking me with the safety it offered. My trembling hand brushed the sleeve twice before getting a firm enough grip to pull it closer.

My amulet was in the inside pocket. I knew it was. It had to be. The darkness at the edge of my vision was growing, and the burn in my lungs was unbearable. Nevertheless, sudden determination invigorated me, and I plunged a hand into the pocket, searching desperately. The cool metal of my amulet greeted my fingers. At my touch, I felt its warmth suffuse my shaking body. Immediately the rising flood disappeared, as did the stink of blood in my nostrils, and the foul taste in my throat. I brought the amulet to my chest, curling my body around it.

I have no idea how long I lay there, clutching the only protection I had against whatever curse had infected me. An interminable time later, I rose back to my feet, putting the amulet around my neck once more. I walked over to the spotless sink, and turned the faucet. For a brief, heart-clenching moment I thought the water was coming out red. But no, it was just water, plain old more fluoride-than-water from the tap. I laughed shakily, and started to wash my hands. The laugh threatened to turn manic, and I snapped my jaw shut before I could go down that particular road to lunacy.

Whatever illusion I had been hit with was gone, but the memory of it remained, and this time, I knew for sure that the feeling of blood on my hands was just my mind playing tricks on me. It didn't matter, I scrubbed my fingers raw. After ten minutes I started to feel clean again, and forcibly stopped myself from continuing. I stared at myself in the mirror and took a deep breath. I looked like hell. Eyes sunken in fatigue, face drawn and pale from my recent ordeal, lips bloodless and nearly the same color as my skin. That did it. From now on; my amulet was never coming off.

This curse, if it was actually a curse and I wasn't just going horrifyingly insane, was going to get me killed. So far it hadn't struck in the middle of anything dangerous, but what if it had hit when I was fighting Slate? Hell, I didn't need some kind of supernatural threat for a sudden panic to be dangerous. Just being behind the wheel of a vehicle would probably be good enough to kill me. The most insulting thing, honestly, was the quality of the illusions. If I didn't immediately feel induced panic at the presence of the curse, I likely would have scoffed at the bloody images.

Of course, the alternative, that I was just going mad, wasn't really any more reassuring. Maybe my amulet was just doing its usual thing and it only helped because I was deluding myself into thinking it would. If I was truly mad, and defensive magic was what I thought drove it away, would I be able to tell the difference? I quickly pulled myself back from that endless abyss of paranoia. Madness lay down that road, even if I wasn't quite there already.

Either way, there wasn't much I could do. If I could remain calm enough to monitor the magic around me during the effects, I could tell if there was some force suddenly attacking me. I shuddered, remembering the terrible paralysis that had come over me. Staying calm wasn't in the cards. But, there was also the possibility that the curse was already inside me, and just set to go off every so often. Now that I thought about it, that seemed most likely. If it was an outside influence, then it wouldn't be able to hit me through the threshold of my house.

So, I was infected with a curse that simulated, in a rather convincing manner might I add, the effects of very persistent insanity. And if I didn't get rid of it soon, it likely wouldn't need to simulate a damn thing. Lovely.

I sighed and grabbed the t-shirt and boxers I had set out before my shower. Worrying about this wasn't going to fix it, and I needed sleep if I was going to be of use to anybody.

The next morning came entirely too early. I wish I could have slept in. Oh, how I would have loved that. But, unlike Sam, who is paid in money as well as power by his Patron, I had a day job.

I'd heard of a guy, down in Chicago, who openly advertised as a professional wizard. More power to him, but that was definitely not my thing. I was, in essence, a magical problem solver. For people _in the know_, and even those who weren't, on rare occasions, I could be hired to fix an issue. Usually this involved mediating some kind of minor dispute between two supernaturally inclined parties. Other times it involved kicking in doors and making threats to those who refused to follow the rules. For this reason, I spent a lot of time studying the Unseelie Accords, and even had a written copy that I kept on hand for my work.

And yes, I've heard every lawyer and arbitrator joke in the book, don't even bother.

Today I was being called in to work with the local White Court and a local Warden. I held out hope that it wasn't the guy Sam and I had encountered yesterday. But honestly, how could it not be at this point? The universe demanded that my day be as filled with inconvenience as possible, and his appearance seemed like the perfect way for it to accomplish its sick goals. I doubted being publicly hired by vampires, even semi-friendly ones, would endear me overmuch to the Warden. Eh, whatever, dude was a jackass.

Luckily, Sam had volunteered to stay at my house and hold down the fort. If he hadn't, I probably would have called in and cancelled my services. This would not endear me to my clientele base, not one bit. A business like mine got around by word of mouth, and I just could not afford to have it be spread that I was unreliable.

I was, however, in for a treat. I awoke to the smell of bacon. Glorious, artery-clogging bacon. I dressed in a suit that wasn't covered in the vital fluids of somebody else, and grabbed my overcoat. I looked worryingly at the stains on the lapel and collar. It didn't show very well on the black material, but I still didn't like the idea of something else's blood on my favorite coat. With a sigh, I shrugged it on anyway. My amulet remained snug against my skin underneath the white dress shirt.

I would like to say I walked downstairs sedately, but that would be a filthy lie. I rushed down like a kid on Christmas morning. It had been so long since I'd had a proper, home-cooked meal that I literally could not remember when. Sam and Marion were both in the kitchen, and my old friend was cooking not just bacon, but pancakes as well.

"You can cook?" I asked incredulously.

"Morning, Jay! And yes, yes I can." Mary giggled quietly, and I cast a suspicious glance at the two. At least Sam's mood had improved. I've found that a pretty girl and a hot meal can have that effect on even the surliest of temperaments.

"I see you two have met."

"Oh yes," said Mary, "Sam was just telling me how _you two_ met."

I rubbed at the bridge of my nose. "Why are you telling her that? Why? Don't I have enough shame after getting the crap kicked out of me yesterday?"

Sam laughed, flipping a pancake high in the air and catching it expertly. "You spent more time on your ass than your feet."

I sighed good-naturedly, unable to hide the slight smile creeping across my face. I pulled out a chair at the kitchen table and slumped into it. It had been a long two days, and I was looking forward to something as normal as mediating a dispute between a vampire and a magical hitman. I paused. Was that my normal? Kinda sad, honestly.

We bantered back and forth while the food cooked, and I wolfed down the admittedly excellent fare in record time. I looked at Sam and Mary seriously. "You two need to be careful, alright?" I passed them each a spare key to my house, each engraved with a small symbol. "As long as you have this, you can pass through the active wards unharmed, and unlock the door for that matter. But I cannot emphasize enough that you _be vigilant._ Losing your focus could be deadly, considering just how many things want to kill all three of us right now."

Sam had sobered considerably. "I'm on it, man, no need to worry."

I broke the tension with a smile. "Yeah, okay, whatever."

He smiled back, "Shove it up your ass, Jason." We bumped fists and I gave Mary a small bow before heading out the door. Now, while Sam was a deadly fighter, an unfailingly loyal friend, and just an overall fun fellow to be around, here I really felt the benefits of having him around. Sam's beautiful car sat in the never-used parking spot in front of my house. I took a deep breath of the crisp air, and let it out with a grin.

I didn't know enough about cars to truly appreciate how nice Sam's was, but I got the gist well enough. I slid into the slightly sun-warmed leather of the driver's seat, and let my hands rest naturally on the wheel. Too bad being a wizard prohibited a lot of this kind of modern luxury.

I drove to the high-rise building my client conducted business out of in silence. For all the shit I gave him, Sam was still my best friend, and wrecking his car's stereo with accidental magic didn't seem like something a best friend would do to another.

I pulled into the parking garage of the skyscraper, and a valet, I swear on my power, an actual _valet,_ parked the car for me. I kept an eye on the guy until he returned the keys, just in case. I was dazzled by the obvious display of wealth, not stupid.

The main building itself was interesting. The girl manning the front lobby's desk sent me up easily enough, but once I'd arrived on the floor the meeting was to be held on, I was searched by a team of rather large and rather aggressive looking fellows. All of whom had rather large and rather aggressive looking guns. They relieved me of my scepter. Lovely. Just lovely.

My client, Darien Malvora, greeted me after the impromptu search. Darien was considered… Odd, among his kind. While most White Court vampires chose to feed on one emotion, the one their family line was known for, Darien had chosen an entirely different, and rather unprecedented, thing to feed off of. Though the actual methodology was a bit more complicated than I made it sound, Darien fed off of greed. He worked in an investing firm, and positively gorged himself on the constant drive for _more._

This departure from tradition hadn't precisely endeared him to his family, and as such he was one of the few White Court vampires I felt I could trust in any capacity. Not to say that he wouldn't use me like a pawn in chess if he could, but I'd know he was using me for his own purposes, not those of his family. Of course, his family also used him for dealings they wanted deniability on, and he received a generous amount of fiscal leeway for such services. The White Court was strange that way.

Darien was, like all White Court, inhumanly beautiful. His charms didn't work on me, but I still understood the principle. His teeth were dazzlingly white, his skin pale, but not unhealthily so, his hair long and dark, but still well-groomed, you get the idea. Basically he was reminiscent of the ancient Greek statues of their Olympian athletes. Minus the public nudity, I prayed. Fortunately for my eyes, he had dressed in attire not unlike my own, except it was all in white.

"Jason!" He exclaimed, his voice rich and deep, as usual, "Good to see you. I was afraid you might not make it in time."

I put on a wan smile, "Never one to disappoint, sir." It was a thing I did. Once someone gave me their money, I referred to them as sir or ma'am. Of course, the second they _stopped_ paying me, I went back to my old snarky self.

He waved me over to a room with a rather large conference table in its center, and ceiling to floor windows set into two walls. Nice. Not precisely the place I'd pick to meet with someone who could fling people around with his mind, but if the Warden threw me out the window, at least I'd have a great view before dying.

As if the thought had summoned him, the Warden, and wouldn't you know it, it _was_ the one from yesterday, chose that moment to stride into the room, grey cloak swirling behind him ominously. That was a pretty cool effect; I might have to look into acquiring one of those cloaks. He sat with a grunt and tilted his head to Darien. "Vampire."

Darien only smiled more sincerely in response to the wizard's rudeness. "Warden Smith, may I introduce Jason Stewart, professional mediator. I've hired him to keep us within the Accords during negotiations."

Smith, and I _highly_ doubted that was his real name, gave me a once over from across the room, not a hint of recognition showing in his eyes or actions. He nodded slightly. "Let's get this over with then."

I cleared my throat. "From what I've been led to believe, you're here to negotiate an issue with house Malvora, and are acting as an official representative of the White Council in this capacity."

Smith nodded again, unsmiling. "Got it in one."

I exhaled slowly. "Well then, I believe we'll need to draw up some sort of written agreement to that effect. What are you after and what are you willing to offer?"

He shrugged, "I've been authorized to offer a certain amount of…" He paused, as if to mull over the next word, "Oversight."

Darien raised his eyebrows. "How do you mean?"

The Warden narrowed his eyes. "I don't like you vampire, I don't like what you are, or who you represent. If I had my way, I'd be incinerating you right now." He paused for effect. "However, the people who give me my marching orders have told me to make nice with the monsters in this city. I don't like it; in fact I think it's a base betrayal of what I'm supposed to stand for. Keep than in mind."

My client's raised eyebrows only rose higher. Warden Smith continued, "I am being ordered to tell you that, in return for your Court's active assistance in the war, the Council is willing to agree to not interfere with any White Court authorized operations for the next hundred years." The breath caught in my throat. This was big, bigger than me, bigger than Darien, bigger than this city, even.

Darien saw it too. "I wasn't expecting… This. Quite honestly, I was expecting a small tussle over boundaries or something. This is a tad above my pay grade, Warden. I'll have to consult with the White King on the official terms of this agreement."

Smith shrugged impassively. "Take all the time you need. The longer it is until I have to act civil to your smug face again, the better." I could see the rage in Darien's eyes, but he fought it back, a smooth mask of impassivity sliding over his face.

"Leave," he ordered. For the first time, the Warden smiled. He got up from his chair and turned on his heel, leaving as abruptly as he had arrived. Darien turned to me, and for just a second I saw a bit of panic in his perfect features. But then it was gone, and I was facing the smoothly confident Darien once more. "It would seem the usual breadth of your service is not required today. I will, of course, send your payment in the usual manner for your troubles. However, if you wish to earn some extra, I could use a voice of reason in another matter."

It was my turn to raise an eyebrow. "I'd be happy to help, sir, but what, precisely are you talking about?"

He smiled in a predatory way. "I heard about your little scuffle with the Reds yesterday. I had thought you an independent agent, but I see now it was foolish to assume that there was _no one_ whom you didn't owe loyalty to. I want to talk to your sponsor, and negotiate for your services."

I almost laughed trying to imagine Darien quibbling over a contract with The Morrigan. "And what services would those be?"

His smile widened. "I need you to kill someone."

**Authorial Note: Unfortunately, this is the last we'll be seeing of Darien until the sequel. Assuming I write a sequel. Next chapter will be up next week.  
**


	9. Into The Breach My Acquaintances

**Author's Note: Actiony-Action? Yes indeed, dear readers, yes indeed.** **On a serious note, I'm especially pleased with how this came out. I mean, the action seemed alright, but quite honestly this chapter is just helping me set up the ending, and I think its transitional nature shows. I think I might rewrite it once I finish the rest of the fic and see if working backwards produces a quality product.  
**

Chapter Nine: Once More Into the Breach My Friend and Acquaintances

I remember a time back when my life wasn't interesting. I used to do not much of anything, really. Get up, go to work, maybe kill a few vampires or Fae for The Morrigan every so often, and go to bed. When did I suddenly become the fulcrum for all the important crap around Boston to turn upon?

A sigh tore its way from my lungs. I had told Darien to ask Naime for an audience with my Patron. No way in hell was I going to try for it. If he wanted to kill himself, he could go for it, but no way was I hopping on the ride down to hell with him.

Darien meant well, but he had no idea of what he was asking me to do. I didn't hold much regard for the Laws of Magic. My respect for the Council's Law extended just as far as the reach of their Wardens did. But there are some things you can't do and come out the other side unchanged. Killing a fellow human being in cold blood is one of them. Vampires were one thing. They were just walking corpses that hurt innocent people. The Fae were another, they…defied description. But to willingly turn my magic on another normal human being unprovoked… No.

The Morrigan would either refuse him, or not. Either way, she wouldn't assign me the task. She was loath to endanger a tool needlessly, and she was well aware of what the Council could do to me if the Wardens came knocking. Regardless of my sympathies, I had to tell Darien who to go to about the issue. One of the conditions of my _geis_ is a sort of pro-action clause. If I come across an opportunity that could possibly benefit my Patron, I have to at the least kick it up the ladder.

Still, the day had given me a lot to think about. There was no way I was involved in matters important enough to draw the Winter Knight's attention by coincidence. There was a larger game afoot. If only Slate hadn't taken those papers, I'd have more information available. And now, I had been called in to mediate a major political move. There was no way these things were coincidence.

But for now it didn't matter. All I wanted to do was go home, bug Sam until he made me more food, and maybe work on how to make a gun with my mind. I'd been approaching the idea from several different directions for _months._ My hopes were high for the latest iteration of the mind-gun project, however. Basically, the idea was that I could carry around small bits of metal, and then, using a precise force spell I had yet to design, fling them into my opponents. The basic idea was fine; it was the force spell that stymied me.

Despite my claims to the contrary, I really wasn't that well educated in magical fundamentals. I learned how to be ultraviolent with my power from The Morrigan, all those years ago. But I never got into the gentler, peacetime magic. Normally this wouldn't be a problem, but my lack of a good foundation was starting to show. Fiddling with spells I thought up was a titanic undertaking, and potions were completely out of the question.

I sighed, trying to clear my head. I slid a hand under my jacket and between two buttons of my shirt, resting my palm on the surface of my amulet. Comforting heat suffused me, and I smiled a little. The walk back to Sam's car passed in a haze of low-key cheer. I reached the door and stopped, frowning slightly.

How did I get there so fast? I looked down at my amulet, and suddenly, I got it. I was becoming dependent on its magic. Maybe not physically dependent, but mentally. I couldn't deal with anything unless I had it with me. That was all well and good for fits of eldritch madness, but what about everyday stresses? If I couldn't even handle a bit of worry without leaning on my magic, I was in serious shit.

"Enjoying your job?"

I twitched away from the amused feminine voice. Naime leaned against the gleaming surface of the car, her eyes dancing with mirth. "I never get tired of that!"

"Dammit Naime!" I took a deep breath, "What do you want?"

She smiled winningly, "Just to convey news from our Lady. Turns out you're to be released from duty earlier than we thought!"

"Meaning?"

"Meaning that all you have to do is keep the girl safe for another two nights, and our Patron will take her back to Her realm. And you might even get a nice little bonus."

I eyed the Sidhe warily. Nothing is ever this simple with them. Ever. "Why the change?"

Naime shrugged casually, "I am not privy to Her desires. I deliver messages and enact her will, not question it."

I nodded. "Fine then, I guess I'll be seeing you day after tomorrow."

Naime's joking demeanor vanished. "No, you won't. The Lady is coming to collect her charge in person." Without another word, she vanished, her Way even subtler than the last. I took another deep breath, trying to lower my heartbeat. The last time I had seen the Morrigan in person was when she cemented my servitude. I still had scars from the experience, physical and spiritual.

You see, magic is not meant to be forced into a container not designed for its presence. What I am is fairly unnatural, my power being given, not earned. To shove that much power into me, and make it stick, had been a… traumatic experience. Something in me broke that day, and no matter how much crazyglue you apply to something like that, it's not coming back together. Still, I didn't regret the deal I had made. It got me out of immediate danger and made me able to take care of myself, and that's worth any amount of abomination.

I got in Sam's car and drove home, after doing some errands in town. So, basically, I just had to bunker down and hold my house for two days, and everything would be fine. Well, I'd still have Maeve hunting for me, but I could burn that bridge when I came to it.

When I arrived home, it was already dark. I let out a short breath of relief. My house was still standing, not on fire. Every last bit of that relief flooded out of me the second I saw the visitor waiting on my stoop. Warden "Smith." Lovely.

"Warden, how may I help you?"

He scowled darkly. "You can let me in to your house, for one, and then submit to an examination for the use of black magic." He motioned to the door. "Failure to comply will be taken as evidence of guilt, and you will be summarily executed."

My eyes narrowed. A coward I might be, but this was just a man. I have not, and never will, respond well to bullies. And right now, I was feeling far more rage than fear. "I'd like to see you try. But for the sake of peaceful operation, I'll submit to your thrice-damned tests." I stepped past him and opened the door. My next words were said through clenched teeth, "Be welcome in my home."

Smith stepped through the doorway, his weary eyes scanning everything and nothing at once. Mary poked her head out of the living room, "Jason, welcome ba-" her cheery voice trailed off when she saw the Warden.

"Marion, this is Warden Smith," I rolled my eyes at his name; "He's a guest here. A guest who may try to decapitate me if he doesn't like what he sees. So, with that in mind, please be polite."

Sam came down from the upstairs, his hair thoroughly out of place, wearing a set of flannel pajamas. Typical, I'm out working and he's napping. Still not jealous. The instant he spotted Smith, his entire body seemed to tense and then release. "Is there a problem here, Jase?"

I grinned. "Not a one Sam. Go back to sleep, I'll yell if he decides to execute me." Sam met Smith's eyes without fear, a dark glower spreading across his face.

The Warden's hand twitched towards the hilt of his sword, and I could almost taste the tension in the air. I hoped it wouldn't escalate into a fight. Not that I was afraid for my friend. Sam could turn the guy inside out with a slight bit of luck. No, I was more concerned for my house's drywall. Sam did not understand the meaning of the phrase "collateral damage" and I doubted the Warden did either, given his profession. Perhaps it would have come to violence, if an inhuman shriek hadn't sounded right outside my door.

I stumbled to my knees, hands rising immediately to my ears. Sam almost tumbled down the stairs, and I could hear Mary fall into my coffee table. Wasn't so funny when it was her, huh? Petty vindictiveness would have to wait. Smith seemed to be the only one unaffected by the noise, simply turning to stare at the door.

A voice, well, more of a hiss than anything else, came following on the heels of the unearthly screeching. "Surrender the mortal, wizard. Surrender the mortal, or we will burn your place of power down around you, and take her regardless of your struggle. Surrender the mortal, and my masters will reward you. You have ten minutes to decide."

I looked up at Sam and he nodded. After the years we'd spent fighting together, there wasn't a need for words anymore. He sprinted up the stairs to the room where he'd dumped his gear. I turned to face Mary. "We're not going to let them take you. What I need for you do is go into the kitchen, and grab the small gem in there out of its cradle, then stay close to me. Whatever you do, do not let go of it." She nodded fearfully and ran off to the retrieve my warding stone.

I eyed Warden Smith cautiously. "You are a guest in my home. If you wish, I can try to explain that to the Reds and see about getting you safe passage. But I will not sacrifice my charge to these monsters, not for your Council, or for your peace. I've done many things I'm not proud of, but damned if I'll surrender an innocent to those… _creatures._"

Smith's face could have been carved of stone. "It happened to you once, didn't it?"

I couldn't summon up enough indignation to lie. "Yeah, it did."

He sighed deeply. "Whatever you may think of us Wardens, our entire order exists to protect people." His eyes were cold. "I've allowed atrocities to happen under my nose in the name of peace, but there's only so much I can stand by and watch while still being human." Well, who could have guessed? The Warden had a heart after all.

Sam was hurtling down the stairs within a minute, dressed in extremely light combat gear and wielding a fairly ridiculous assortment of weapons. An assault rifle was slung across his back, and there were four handguns I could see strapped to his body. In his right hand he held what looked like a Roman gladius. A bandolier of vials encircled his chest, and I could see at least one knife strapped to his thigh.

"Sam, where in the hell do you get this stuff?"

He winked jauntily. "Oh, I know a guy. If I told you, I'd have to kill you and him." Mary returned with the gem, her fingers wrapped around it in a white-knuckle grip. I gently touched the crystal. Though it was designed for my wards, it wasn't too much trouble to repurpose the spell into a more generic kind of shield. Defensive magic is defensive magic after all. A twist of thought and an exhalation of power later, and a half-dome of shimmering light sprang into existence in front of her.

"Mary, listen very carefully. As long as you stay within a certain radius of me, that crystal will draw on my energy to form that shield. It has a significant reserve to burn through first, but it'll get there. The magic is oriented to the direction you're facing, so you need to turn and look at a threat to defend yourself." She looked around the house, her eyes a little wild. "Mary, hey, look at me." Focusing with difficulty, she looked at my face, but not my eyes. Good, Sam had taught her a few things. "It's going to be okay Mary, I promise."

With a start, I realized that I meant it.

I looked at Smith, newfound respect in my eyes. "What do you suggest?"

He exhaled slowly. "Wait until they run out the clock, then bust out the door guns blazing. Kill as many as we can while running away."

Sam grinned bloodily, "Alright, I like it, short and to the point."

We waited tensely for their ultimatum. We weren't kept in suspense for long. "Wizard! It is time to choose! Live, or die!"

I yelled back, "Gonna have to go with 'go fuck yourself!'" Without waiting for a response, I disabled the runes holding my scepter in place inside my sleeve and caught the focus as it dropped. The Warden stepped in front of me and kicked the door off of its hinges, sword drawn. Which was impressive it its own right. I'd seen Sam bust down doors before, and I'd tried it a few times myself. It's a lot harder than people think.

He yelled out a word in what sounded like Arabic, and a dim light shone from a ring on his left hand. "Get directly behind me!" He yelled. Gunfire rang out in the night, the staccato bursts of a professional.

Every bullet that approached skewed off to the side. He didn't reflect or block them head on, as I would have, but instead subtly changed the trajectory of the bullets as they approached. Each round careened off to the side, leaving a relatively small cone of safety behind the Warden. Despite the success of his shield, I could see the strain in the Warden's shoulders. Time for something desperate. "Shut your eyes." I ordered. All three did so without hesitation. It was kind of heartening to see that sort of respect for my power. Subtle and quick to anger, indeed.

I angled my scepter over Smith's shoulder and focused as much energy as I could into one spell. "_Tintreach!_" What came out of my scepter was not so much a bolt as it was a _fan_ of lightning. Normally, my summoned electricity couldn't hold a candle to a natural bolt, but this was at least as bright, if not as charged. I slammed my eyes shut until the electricity had played itself out. I could feel several bolts impact the ground and harmlessly dissipate. But a few struck flesh.

When I opened them again, I saw several figures dressed in dark clothing writhing on the ground, hands clutching their faces, their guns lying forgotten. Several were on the ground, screaming and moaning in pain, clutching at burned flesh. At least one lay still, either unconscious or dead. There was a distinct smell of charred flesh and hair in the air. But it wasn't quite over yet. What looked like a bloody _legion _of Red Court vampires still stood, their superior hearing alerting them to my attack before I could make it. They stood without their flesh masks, rubbery black skin making them hard to see in the night. Whoever it was that led this little sortie must have called in every bit of muscle the Reds had in the area.

Sam shouldered me to the side, sword in one hand and a pistol in the other. Without a word, he raised his gun and started firing round after round at the, to me, barely visible vampires. However, one of them spat out a phrase in a guttural tongue, and a shield sprang up between them and the bullets.

Abruptly the stench of sulfur filled the air. I nearly choked on it before regaining my composure. "Move!" I yelled, motioning towards the sidewalk. Sam ejected the clip from his gun, nodded, and as one our little group took off running.

We leaped from my front steps, tearing off into the night. The vampires were faster. They bore down on us like a lion on a gazelle. I twisted around to aim at them while running and screamed out, "_Teann!_" A wave of force hit their leader's shield, and it stumbled for half a second before regaining its footing and continuing the pursuit.

For a moment their shield dropped, but before I could capitalize on the opportunity, the stink of sulfur returned and I saw what looked like a stream of flame come from the leader's hand. I sent power into my amulet, and a shield of my own came into being between us just in time. The flame spattered on the shield's surface, behaving more like a liquid than true fire. I crowed in triumph. "You'll have to work harder than that!"

The vampire screamed back, "As you wish!"

A blazing fury filled the air, hate made manifest. Even I could sense the sheer _wrongness_ the spell exuded. The liquid fire spouting from the vampire went from a stream to a torrent of flame. I could taste the sick scent of the blaze in the back of my throat. There was definitely something inherently _off_ about the magic being used here. The smell of sulfur grew stronger.

Our flight had ground to a halt. There was no way I could keep my shield up while sprinting, not against this kind of force, and there was no way the vampires could advance, not with their leader's dark fire barring the way. I strained against the force of its spell, constantly forcing more power into my shield. And then, abruptly, it was gone.

The vampire sneered at me. Well, I interpreted it as such, who in the hell knows what kind of facial expression it was going for?

"I read your file," it hissed, "Taken by a sporting raid at nineteen." I stiffened in sudden rage. "It really does explain a lot, doesn't it? Deep down, in the most primal, the truest, part of you, you're still that scared little boy, taken as a plaything for the monsters. Aren't you, Jason?" I could feel my teeth grinding together. "Do you have dreams about it? Do you ever wake up in the darkness; panicked and sweating, praying that it was just a nightmare? We could always take you back with the girl. I imagine the Count who wants her would be ecstatic to own a wizard to amuse himself with." The vampire licked its lips, its overly long tongue dripping narcotic saliva. "I'm sure he could pawn you off for a favor or two, but I'm willing to bet the personal amusement would be more interesting. After all, you come pre-broken, don't you?"

"Shut up!" I screamed. "_Tintreach!_" "_Tintreach!_" "_Tintreach!_" I could feel my long-buried hate rise to the surface of my mind. Magic is life, as any wizard will tell you, and life is being human. Part of being human is feeling emotion. I poured my rage and loathing into my magic. Lightning poured from my scepter like a river of electricity. The vampire hastily threw up another shield, but I only pushed harder at my spell. I could feel the metal of my scepter heating up. I pushed more power into it anyway. The focus began to burn my hand. Cracks were starting to appear in the creature's shield, and I felt a savage sense of impending vengeance run through my body.

The smell of sizzling flesh reached my nose, and I knew it was my own burning skin. I didn't care. I didn't care one bit. A scream of hate tore its way out of my throat, and I threw every ounce of will in my mind into my lightning. The shield was slowly, ever so slowly, beginning to break apart. Cracks spread across its gleaming surface, and a heady feeling of triumph raced through me. I could dimly hear someone screaming, and it took a second for me to realize it was me.

Finally, finally, the smug monster's shield broke before my rage. The vampire's practitioner screeched in panic and flung one of the others in between it and the bolt of coruscating electricity as the wall of energy splintered. The sacrificed vampire screeched in agony briefly as lightning coursed through its flesh.

As disturbing a display this must have been, the other vampires were no longer held back by their leader's shield. They surged forward like a wave, and I didn't have anything left to hit them with. That had been the point, I realized. Get me angry enough to tire myself out, and then take Marion. I couldn't even feel properly despairing at having been so easily played. I was emotionally exhausted; I had nothing left to give.

Thankfully for me, Sam had plenty more.

He yanked me back, interposing himself between me and the onrushing tide of vampires. With a casual sort of shrug, he reached over his shoulder and grabbed the assault rifle slung on his back.

He fired each single shot with deliberation, using his sword as much as the gun. The moonlight flickered on the steel of his gladius, and in Sam's hand the sword flicked out almost faster than the eye could track. Vampires fell to both weapons, screeching in their death throes. Soon, however, his ammunition ran dry. He let the gun fall, and shifted both hands to the grip of his sword.

I hadn't seen many swordsmen in action. It just wasn't something you really saw much of in this day and age. But now, I truly understood the difference in show fights and fencing, and professional killing with a blade. Sam's every movement was short and economical. It was ugly, brutal, and undeniably effective.

Ecstatic as I was at our sudden success, I couldn't help but be suspicious. These lemmings couldn't be full Red Court vampires. They were, quite frankly, idiots. These vampires just threw themselves forward, no thought for strategy or tactics, just an endless wave of cannon fodder. Sam sidestepped one and flicked his blade across its stomach, spilling its reservoir of blood across the pavement. Immediately, three other vampires descended on their comrade, desperately trying to drink the rapidly spreading pool of blood. That settled it. As ravenous as their kind was, Red Court vampires controlled their urges. These were their degenerates, little better than mindless animals.

Without a word, Smith stood beside my friend, his silvery blade emitting a light hum. He extended his left hand, stabbing out with the sword in his right. A moment later I felt a massive surge of power go through the street below us. Ten seconds passed, more vampires falling to their blades before the ground itself let out a low groan. A crack ran its way through the concrete and asphalt in front of us. And with a roar, the earth itself began to buckle and heave in front of the two. Smith narrowed his eyes in concentration, and the muscles in his neck were prominent with tension.

The vampires fell back from the trembling ground, the tide of their attack receding. But I knew it wouldn't last, not unless something _really_ dramatic was about to happen. I was not let down. Another tortured scream escaped the asphalt and concrete, before the surface seemed to _shear_. The side closest to us settled back to its normal appearance, albeit rather more cracked. The street on the other side of the shear shifted upwards sharply. A section of the roadway, about thirty or forty feet long and at least a foot wide slowly ground its way upwards.

I watched in amazement. I wasn't really down with earth magic, it didn't suit my particular style, but I knew enough to be impressed. The amount of energy Smith had to have expended was astronomical. And the wall only kept climbing. When it finally shuddered to a halt it extended from the walls of houses on both sides of the street, and had to be at least fifteen feet tall. I gaped openly, so sue me.

The instant his spell finished, the Warden slumped back to the ground beside me. His breathing came in ragged gasps, and I could see shivers and shakes run through his whole body, but for the first time, I saw a grin on Smith's solemn face. He raised his voice as much as he could and yelled, "Best that, you talentless hack!" It would only buy us time, and not very much of it, but a little time might have been just what we needed.

The only reply was the dark form of a vampire hurtling clean over the wall. It screeched its fury as it fell, and Sam's eyes followed the sound. Before he could even raise a weapon, fire rained down from the rapidly descending figure. The stench of brimstone grew stronger, and I called out a hoarse warning. I needn't have bothered; Sam was already diving out of the way.

The vampire landed gracefully smack in the middle of our little group. Sam came turned his desperate dive into a roll and moved smoothly back to his feet. The rifle he had been using was gone in the confusion, so he drew a vial of water from the bandolier slung around his chest. With a titanic roar, he sprinted towards the rubbery form of the vampire.

I heard a low crunching noise, and Sam's hand whipped out towards his foe. Though I couldn't see them in the air, the tiny droplets of holy water became excessively visible as they impacted the leader's flesh. Instead of the usual flare of white fire, the water seemed to _explode_ with heat, radiating a silver luminescence that hurt to look at directly. I turned my eyes away from that blinding light, though it faded in a few short seconds.

It looked like great chunks of flesh had been torn out of the vampire's body. Yet, right before my eyes, its flesh began to knit together, a ruddy glow emanating from the wounds. Sam swung his sword down at the fallen creature, but its hand whipped forward faster than I had ever seen anything move. It caught his wrist in a steely grip, and a series of loud cracks resounded in the still air. Sam didn't give the vampire the satisfaction of yelling, but I could hear an involuntary gasp escape his throat at the pain.

I ached to help my friend, but I was so spent I could barely remain conscious, much less sling around the primal forces of the universe. I doubted Smith was even that able after his titanic display. Sure enough, he had collapsed into unconsciousness. Mary was huddled on the ground, holding the gem against her chest like a child clutching a blanket. I groaned softly. Exhausted or not, I was all Sam had at the moment.

As I tried to struggle up to a standing position, I watched the vampire change. What looked like chitin plating flowed smoothly over the monster's limbs, and, even stranger, a second set of eyes flared into existence in the empty air over the creature's regular black ones. For the first time, I heard the thing speak. Not screech, or hiss, but speak in a calm tone. It spoke in a smoothly feminine voice, the contrast with its monstrous appearance jarring. "I remember you. I seem to recall offering you mercy, once." It hissed out a breath of laughter, and the vise-like grip of its hand crushed down harder on Sam's wrist.

With a yell, my friend swung his free hand, fist still drenched in holy water, at the vampire's head. It cleanly intercepted his strike with an armored hand straight into his forearm, and I could clearly hear the sickening sound of those bones breaking as well.

My hands sought purchase on the ground as I pushed myself to my feet. I felt my fingers brush against a cold piece of metal. Smith's sword glinted, the silvery metal reflecting the cold light of the stars. I curled my fingers around the smooth grip, and shoved myself to my feet. I staggered drunkenly for a few moments before getting my bearings. Pain pounded in the space between my eyes, and I could feel it starting to spread throughout my head. I reached for my magic, and almost vomited from the effort. No magic for me.

I knew this wouldn't work. Whatever this vampire was, there was no way I was beating it now. But I had to try. I shuddered in terror, but still moved towards the unearthly creature. I could see the thing whispering in Sam's ear, its hands twisting and crushing his already broken bones. His face was ashen and drawn with pain, but I saw the gleam of defiance in his eyes. I raised the gleaming sword, poised to bring it down and damn the consequences.

It hit me like a freight train. The rank odor of blood filled my nostrils, and I shuddered in reflexive disgust and horror. Not now, please God, not now. My hands shook, still gripping the sword. The vampire turned its head, cued by some invisible signal, and regarded me coldly. "Ah yes, the wizard." It tossed Sam to the side casually. He groaned on the ground. "I had almost forgotten about that little curse. Looking back now, I feel a little embarrassed. Not my best work, no subtlety to it at all." I tried to gasp in more air, and found the air rather stubbornly resisting me. The sword tumbled from my grip, clattering against the ground as my fingers lost all strength.

The armor retreated from the vampire's black skin, vanishing into nothingness. "Remember me yet?" It hissed. Illusionary blood seeped from her eyes and mouth. Her hands were drenched in it, and it ran in rivulets down her black skin.

I only had enough wind in me for a whisper, but damned if I'd go out without saying something witty. "Not really. You freaks all look the same to me." Okay, not really witty. But it was something defiant at least.

The vampire scowled, and both sets of eyes narrowed at me. It waved a hand lazily, and the creature's flesh mask started to form before my eyes. It started at the thing's toes and fingers, and slowly moved inward. Clara's beautiful face glared hate at me. "Remember now?"

**Author's Note: Okay, so, Jim can set up revelations and shocking twists with enough subtlety that I can barely spot them upon re-reading. I cannot. If you guessed Clara's fate from my not-so-subtle hints, you win the game.**

**Once again, not especially proud of this chapter, but bear with me. I promise, there is plenty o' awesome yet to come.**


	10. Oh, Right, I Remember You Now

**Authorial Note: Welp, I'm not gonna be able to write or post for the next two weeks, so I merged Ten and Eleven together, hoping to get you guys a usual-length chapter before my exile.**

**A great many thanks go out to the fine people at DLP for answering my ****_many_**** inane questions. More specifically: Agayek, Datakim, Aekiel, Idiot Rocker, Garlak, and Erandil. Thanks a million.**

Chapter Ten: Oh, Right, I Remember You

"Oooh, dramatic revelations! Your clichéd villainy is getting better at least." I could still only whisper, despite my great shuddering gasps of air. Clara's scowl seemed etched onto her face.

"So tell me, you inhuman bitch, precisely how did you survive? It seems you and cockroaches have yet another thing in common." Just that short bit of glibness left me gasping for air.

"I'm going to make you beg me to kill you before I'm through." Clara hissed out between clenched teeth. She waved a hand and I felt the curse vanish, oxygen rushing into my lungs. "What a waste of magical energy," she murmured. "If I knew half of what I know now, I could have torn your mind asunder with a quarter as much." A sense of calm enveloped me. I'd failed in my task, and in my loyalties. I didn't especially like that, but there wasn't much I could do now but face my death with dignity.

I sighed wearily. "You're about halfway there now. Your threats could use some work, they're boring as hell." With a strangled scream, Clara smashed her fist into the side of my face. I _flew_ sideways, landing on the hard concrete with a groan. I could already tell I was going to have some colorful bruises from this mess. Assuming I lived. Yeah, likely.

Clara's subordinates had crawled up the wall and back down the other side like insects. She screamed out orders to the other vampires. "Take these three back. We'll deal with them later. Leave the wizard to me. If any of you harms the girl, I will wear your skin as a dress." My detached sense of calm in the face of the death started to feel a bit strained. I couldn't just let them take my friends, the people who I had signed my own death warrant for. I struggled to raise my head enough to see what was going on. The unconscious Warden was being dragged away, whereas Sam was lashing out as best he could, feet crunching into Red Court bones. More vampires flocked to his prone form, and he let out a yell of defiant fury that was quickly cut off.

Mary backed away from the vampires, keeping the shield interposed between her frail form and their monstrous faces. I could see tears streaming down her face. I couldn't blame her. If I'd had the energy for it, I'd probably have been crying too. Another vampire crept up behind her and wrapped its arm around her neck, while running its long tongue over her face. The poor girl didn't stand a chance, and she weakly collapsed into its grip, her eyes unfocusing. The warding gem gently fell from her numb fingers, tinkling as it bounced against the pavement.

Clara watched this all with an impassive expression. Only when the last of her underlings had left with their captives did she turn her attention back to me. The glowing eyes floating in the air flared brighter and she stopped in her tracks.

"Yes, I know." She said to the air. "I have this under control." A snarl flashed across her face. "Do not presume to lecture-"A gasp of pain interrupted her statement and Clara fell to one knee. "Alright, alright, I understand."

I cleared my throat as best I could. "Okay psycho-bitch, what the hell?" She rose to her feet with blinding speed, and in the space of a second was towering over my prone form.

Her foot connected with my ribs at something approaching the speed of sound. I could clearly feel one shatter. Curses rolled off my tongue, a stream of invective fouler than any I had previously uttered. I have to admit, kind of proud of myself for that one. Clara tilted her head back, a look of bliss on her face.

"The sound of your pain is music to my ears. To answer your original question: I had to sell myself into servitude to yet _another_ master. Because of _you._ Are you happy with what you've wrought?"

I gasped in pain. "No, I'm not happy at all, mostly because of the broken ribs."

She kicked me again. Dammit, I needed to learn to shut up.

Clara smiled at me, full of genuine cheer. "My superiors want the girl unharmed, but no one said anything about the Warden or the Dragontouched. I imagine they'll last for quite some time. But, all of my toys break in the end." A hot flare of rage went through me. I tried to tap into it, to draw power from the anger, but it only made my head spin. I needed to rest before I could use any magic. Maybe Clara would be charitable and let me catch a quick eight hour nap and then continue.

The smell of brimstone filled the air, and Clara raised a hand to point at my chest. Baleful fire grew in her palm, flickering in the gaps between her fingers. "You have no idea," she whispered, "Of how it felt. Unable to move, powerless, dying. I listened as a voice calmly narrated my own demise, laughing as it instructed me on how to avoid it. And now I'm enslaved to two masters. All because of _you._" I could feel the heat of the flames on my face, even from a distance. "I hate you as I have never hated any other living thing. Burn, _Jason._" She spat my name as a curse, and the fire leapt from her palm to my chest. Before it had even caught, she turned and walked away.

I was not brave like Sam. I screamed. The supernatural fire ate away at my flesh, sending waves of agony through my already battered body. I screamed and I screamed. I would have thrashed too, if I'd had the energy.

What an ignominious end. It was hard to think through the scorching pain, but I managed a little. Thinking was all I had left. Of course, the vast majority of my thoughts went along the lines of: _Oh God, oh God, why me?_ But that's beside the point. I had lost. I probably would have felt some kind of way about that, but the consuming burn didn't leave much processing power for guilt.

Heat sunk deeper, right into my bones, and I screamed louder. I could feel my throat ache from the force of my strangled exclamations, but that did nothing to stem the tide.

Time lost all meaning under the stress of that burning agony. I could have been ablaze for a moment or a lifetime. Nothing I had ever done or experienced had prepared me for this. In the end, I couldn't even thrash around. There wasn't enough energy left in me to struggle. I lost the energy to scream soon after. Well, maybe it was soon. I don't know.

All I know is that eventually the cursed fire ceased, leaving only the pain of air touching my burned flesh. I tried to open my eyes, to see what had happened. I couldn't. Literally could not. But, compared to knowing exactly how the fire burned me, the comfortable darkness of not knowing was refreshing. I felt soft arms enfold me, and then I didn't feel anything at all.

I'll be honest. I did not expect to ever wake up. I was fairly sure I had died. And died pretty badly for that matter. It was bound to happen eventually, when you played around with the forces I did. Burned to death by cursed fire wasn't quite what I had expected, and was pretty horrible compared to most scenarios, but it wasn't out of the question by any means. To be entirely fair, I figured it would have been the Morrigan that got me.

So you can imagine my surprise when I woke up feeling pretty damn good. And in a bed, no less. I gasped in breath like it was going out of style, and ran my hands frantically over my bare chest. Despite the usual disappointment of not having excessive musculature, I felt distinctly alive. The ugly mass of scar tissue I felt was new, but I'd learn to love it if it meant I wasn't dead.

A cool voice sounded from outside my vision. "The champion awakens."

I knew that voice. My heart sank in my newly-scarred chest and I really looked at my surroundings. Walls made of black stone, check. Bed frame in the center of a circular room; made of what looked like still growing trees, check. Silk sheets, definitely awesome, but still check. Rising feeling of being an absolute dumbass, check.

I looked to my left and saw the Morrigan, her beautiful face twisted in a small smirk. She was garbed in a simple white floor length dress, the ends of its sleeves dyed red from the blood that coated her hands. As usual, she was breathtakingly gorgeous, and I fought back the sudden impulse to just let my mind fall into her beauty. It was a lot easier than the last time. Of course, I had been nineteen last time. It's hard to do _anything_ related to the denial of hormonal impulses at nineteen.

Her clear voice rang out in the chamber, always seeming a shade too loud for the surroundings. "You have slumbered long; I had feared you lost." Near-deity of vengeance and war watching me sleep, check. No doubt about it, I was in the Morrigan's domain.

For once, I felt my overwhelming fear of my Patron give way to the need for information. "What happened?" My voice came out rough and guttural.

A single eyebrow rose imperiously. I gulped and immediately regretted it. Ow. "I mean, uh, what happened, my Lady?"

A smile, a genuine warm smile, spread its way across Her mouth. I almost shuddered, almost. "Better, Stewart, better. My servitor found you and saved you from perdition's flame. You were brought here to heal." Her long black hair swished quietly as her head turned. Even knowing what I know, and being absolutely terrified about it, there was something preternaturally captivating about the Morrigan. By any standard She was inhumanly beautiful. She gestured with a blood-soaked hand to Naime, whom I noticed standing meekly in the shadows by the room's only door.

"Hey, thanks," I croaked out. She smiled wanly, her usually brilliant eyes dim. I understood why. Our master was a hard presence to be outgoing around.

I turned my attention back the Morrigan. "You have fulfilled your purpose better than I could have dreamed. There is but one part of your order you have yet to fulfill."

Curiouser and curiouser. At least She was in a good mood. "What do you mean, milady? I failed. Mary is lost, taken by… whatever in the hell Clara is now."

She shook her head. "All is not yet lost. The Denarian-"

"The what?" I stopped and blanched. I had just interrupted the Morrigan.

Thankfully she only gave me a brief look of irritation. "The Denarian. Your foe took up a Blackened Denarius after you rendered her close to death. The Fallen has strengthened her, both mystically and physically, and granted her the great boon of its experience."

"The what?" I repeated.

"The Fallen, those cast out by the White Christ. Surely even you mortals know the story." I gaped at her openly. No fucking way.

"Literal fallen angels." I said it as bluntly as a statement. "You have to be kidding me. Not beings of the Nevernever, actual former angels?"

Her eyes flashed with impatience. "Yes, foolish servant. They are bound in thirty coins of silver, all tarnished. Your foe has been taken by one of their order. How, I do not know, her ilk possesses no soul to corrupt, but regardless of how it came to be, we must face reality." I wisely chose to remain silent, and She resumed her exposition. "The vampire has taken your friend the Dragontouched, and the mortal, to her place of power. With the Red hunter's newfound powers, you will be hard-pressed to find victory as you are."

I could sense a 'however' incoming. Turns out I was right in function but not in form. "Therefore, dear servant, I am willing to offer you power."

I eyed my Patron warily. "What's the catch, milady?"

She chuckled darkly. I could feel my stomach clench at the inhuman sound. "You are so wary now, so suspicious. I recall a young man desperate to find revenge, so desperate he accepted my bargain without a thought. I look at you now, and I wonder where that young fool went. He was so much more… pliable." Her smile widened.

I barely managed to keep my voice polite. "He died his second time around in that Red Court den. Now then, what are the terms of your offer?"

For a few moments, there was near-silence. Only the soft pitter-patter of the Morrigan's handfuls of blood striking the floor could be heard in the chamber. She tapped her chin mockingly, and none of the crimson fluid from her hand marked her pale skin. "I wonder, just what indignities are you willing to suffer? What conditions could I bind you with before the price rises too high? How far will you go to save your compatriots?"

I gritted my teeth and remained silent. My Patron had me by the balls, and She knew it. "The terms shall be as such: you will destroy the Red Court vampire holding my prize, and all who share her blood or owe her loyalty. You will make a sacrifice of her blood and bone to me, and deliver the Denarius she holds to my servant." She smiled beatifically, and I could almost pretend that the Morrigan was something to be trusted.

"In return for a thrice bound promise on your power to carry out this service, I will grant you the Mantle of my Chosen. It has remained unclaimed since I crafted it many centuries ago."

What. "How on Earth," I paused, realizing how stupid the saying sounded in my current situation. I plowed on regardless. "How did you make a Knight? I thought only Winter and Summer possessed the capability to…" The true implication of her action hit me all at once. If the Morrigan could craft the kind of spell needed to create her own Knight, then it would be no time at all before every powerful Wyldfae was making their own. If word of her discovery made it out to the greater Fae population, the balance of power across the whole world would change irrevocably.

I eyed her cautiously. "Why do you want Mary enough to risk this going public? What is it that makes her so valuable?"

The Morrigan ignored my questions. "The position of my Chosen comes with great power and skill, but also great obligation. I will speak plainly, for I do not wish to give power to a servant resentful of his lot. In all things, you shall answer to me." Her eyes were stern and cold. "My will is law, not only in your debt, but in your loyalties."

The force of her attention was like a physical weight settling in on my shoulders. I felt weary. Not physically, but mentally. Deep in my bones was an ache that felt entirely at odds with the well-rested contentedness of my purely physical senses. Still, I had to negotiate. Just accepting her deal out of hand was the height of idiocy. I had learned that lesson when I was nineteen, and was not keen to repeat it. "How much control will you exert over me?" I'd given up a lot in the name of survival, but my free will was something I'd yet to sacrifice.

I could tell She was amused. The back and forth of Faerie deal-making was a favorite pastime of hers. "You will execute my will, and be bound to my command." Stunningly unhelpful, that. That was pretty much what I had now.

I pressed the point. "Then what makes this different than my _geis_?" Her small smile widened fractionally.

"The _geis_ is a contract; this ritual is a bond. If you become my Chosen, you will be more than just a servant; you will become an extension of my will." I mused over her words. From what I could tell, She was being genuine. Fae couldn't lie, but they could certainly twist their words. However, I didn't sense any of that from Her. "And keep in mind, servant, that bonds go both ways. I will intercede on your behalf in matters beyond your power." Her eyes, normally an abyss of nihilistic proportions, were compassionate. "I do not want a bondsman, I want a champion."

I _almost_ snorted in laughter. Yeah, right, a Fae being genuine. What was I thinking? "Well, my Lady, it would seem you have me thoroughly cornered. I accept your conditions."

An hour later, I found myself in a vast cathedral-like hall, made of black stone like the rest of this place. Sound echoed strangely in the cavernous depths, and light sources seemed oddly diminished, cutting into the gloom far less than they should have.

They were very few present for the ceremony. Naime was there, and a handful of others, though all of them except Naime remained in shadow, their features hidden. I could see only by silhouettes, and the only being completely visible was the Morrigan, standing a good three paces away from me.

Oh and did I mention I was naked? Yeah.

I shivered a bit from the cold as the Morrigan prepared for the ritual. A Fae servant with what looked like feathers sprouting from his arms brought forth a small washbasin filled with clear water. She methodically cleansed her hands, and the ever present flow of blood coating Her from fingertip to wrist slowly mixed with the water. To my surprise, my Patron's hands remained clean afterwards. I had never seen Her without blood coating them. As she washed away the last bit of blood, something like relief flitted across her beautiful face, there for a short moment then gone. For the barest of instances, She looked… I could think of no better word for it: human. Tension I hadn't even realized she had been holding in her facial muscles slackened and the severe line of her lips curved up in a sad smile.

Then the moment passed, and the Morrigan was back to herself, cold and unchanged. No one else had seen her fleeting transformation, and I filed away the information for later. She took the bowl from the servant's hands reverently. The Morrigan spoke, her voice echoing strangely in the expansive space. "By the blood of Indech and the spirit of Cúchulainn, I anoint you." I shivered at Her proclamation. I didn't know very many of the old tales about my Patron, but what I did know was not promising.

A dull red glow emanated from the top of the bowl at Her words. As She continued, it slowly grew in intensity. "I grant you, my Chosen servant, the power gleaned from both, sacrificed and held." She gently stepped towards me, held out the basin, and I took it from her spotless hands. "Drink." She commanded. I lifted the vessel to my mouth with some trepidation, but I had agreed to this. I suppose I could have backed out right then, but that would condemn Mary, Smith, and Sam to death. I banished my doubts as best I could and drank.

The coppery taste of blood, mixed with the cool feeling of pure water, stuck in my throat. I could feel my throat muscles convulsing, as if they were trying to cough back up what I was drinking but couldn't. After a few mouthfuls, the Morrigan motioned for me to cease, and I gratefully lowered the basin from my lips.

The tainted water settled in my stomach, and I could feel a lazy sort of heat spreading through my body from it. My Patron took back the basin of bloody water and said, "The Chosen has partaken, and thus shall be separated." Well that didn't sound good.

The watching Wyldfae gathered in closer, and I could see them clearly now. I rather wished I couldn't. Most were Sidhe, beautiful beyond mortal ken. Some, on the other hand, were not. A rustling of wings sounded and a single black bird swooped down from somewhere above us and landed on the Morrigan's shoulder. It gave out a single caw and fluttered down to her forearm.

I watched in bemusement as the bird, it looked like a raven or a crow, but dammit I'm a wizard, not an ornithologist, nonchalantly dipped its beak in the bloodied waters, cawed again and promptly flew off. I raised an eyebrow at the Morrigan. "Friend of yours?"

She smiled grimly. "Once, a beloved enemy. Now, certainly not a friend, though it soon will be." Okay then. Ask a stupid question, get a cryptic answer.

Her small smile disappeared as quickly as it had come. "The ritual must be completed." I swallowed nervously, the watered down taste of whoever's blood that had been still in my mouth.

The words she spoke flowed in an almost lyrical manner, and with every syllable the dull red glow of the remaining water increased. "From blood, life, from life, blood." In any other setting this would have been ridiculous, but I couldn't shake the feeling that laughing here would see me gutted in short order.

The surrounding Fae clustered in around us even closer. Naime stepped forward at some invisible signal and took the basin from the Morrigan, who produced a bone knife from the sleeve of her dress and looked at me with hard eyes. "Remain still." I felt a bit of panic at the sight of that blade. I needn't have worried.

My Patron drew the blade across her palm slowly and blood welled forth, for once her own. She let a few crimson drops run down to her fingertips, and flicked them into the water. The knife was handed off to a male Sidhe, who quickly wiped it clean with a white cloth. With a twitch of his fingers the cloth erupted into flames, the fabric quickly burned to ashes. He passed the blade back to my Patron.

She gently ran the flat of the blade across the scarred portion of my chest. Which, to be fair, was now _most_ of my chest. With slow deliberation she dug the point of the dagger into my shoulder, just below the collarbone. I gasped in expectation of pain, but none came. It felt like having surgery done with anesthetic.

Slowly, ever so slowly, the Morrigan drew complex spiraling and looping designs in the flesh of my torso. I have no idea how long it took to complete the pattern, but time seemed to have little meaning anyway. She finished her work quietly and stepped back. She nodded slowly. "Yes, that will do nicely." I looked down and saw that nearly my entire chest was inscribed with knotted designs, some it paired with small bits of lettering in a language I could not recognize.

_Do nicely for what? _I yearned to ask. But I didn't. No way was I opening that particular can of worms. "The ritual is nearly complete. All that remains is to anoint you properly." Before I could ask what that would entail, she overturned the basin of bloodied water on my head

As the tainted liquid washed over me, it began to close every open cut from the Morrigan's knife. I watched with a feeling of detached curiosity, as there was still no pain, only a vague sensation of motion in my tissues. Soon all I could see was the patch of burn-scarred skin and otherwise unblemished flesh. I looked up at the Morrigan to ask if I should feel any different when suddenly it hit me.

I dropped down to one knee in shock at the feeling of sheer _power_ that flowed through me. More than that, I could feel knowledge settling into my mind. It was a sensation beyond description, the feeling of knowing something and simultaneously knowing that it wasn't _me_ who knew it. A torrent of information rushed through my brain, and I suddenly _knew_, not believed, or thought, but _knew_ that I was an expert swordsman. I understood small unit tactics, how to properly prepare a hunted animal, proper wizard-level comprehensive magical theory, and, strangely enough, I had an encyclopedic knowledge of the philosophical and theological discourses of Martin Luther.

Despite the great variety present, almost all of the knowledge I could grasp concerned violence. I knew I could confidently wield just about any weapon, and had a strong grasp on battlefield tactics. I knew human anatomy far more thoroughly than I had ever dreamed, although again I knew it in ways that were conducive to ceasing its functioning.

I struggled to stay conscious against the rushing tide of alien memory and knowledge. The vast majority of it entered and abruptly left, but great tracts of data stayed with me, and I felt my mind panicking as it tried to sort out what was mine and what wasn't.

The torrent of knowledge slowed to a trickle, and then finally stopped with an analysis on the effective use of cavalry by Duke Wellington. Okay. Time to find some answers. I rose slowly back to my feet. Once the initial strangeness of my new situation wore off, I realized that I felt… Pretty damn awesome. I could feel strength coiled in my muscles, far more than I'd ever had before. And magical power, oh yeah, plenty of that. But far more valuable than that was the in-depth knowledge I had gained. I could do more with less than I ever could before.

I looked up at the Morrigan, my mouth already starting to form words when I felt my breath catch in my throat. My new knowledge welled up and-

_I watched a wounded, elderly, woman from the corner of my eye. The taste of milk, rich and creamy, was on my tongue. I took another drink, and another. Wiping my mouth with the sleeve of a roughly-woven shirt I set down the milking bucket. My voice was deeper, gruff. "I bless you thrice for your kindness. Thrice was it given, and thrice do I find myself grateful." The formality sounded strange to my ears, but gratitude is a gift that is free to give. _

_The old woman smirked, her wounds closing before my eyes, and she was gone. In her place stood the Morrigan, both terrible and beautiful. "You told me once that you would never heal me," She said, Her eyes bright with amusement and triumph._

_I snarled out my reply, "Had I known it was you, I never would have."_

I gasped out in shock, but before I could recover another vision overtook my senses.

_It smelled of death here. Corpses coated the ground; blood soaked into the dirt, and the stench of rot was heavy and cloying in the air. I gasped in a shuddering breath, and pain exploded through my chest. I fought it back down and took another deep breath. More pain. Breathe, pain, breathe, pain. The steady rhythm was almost calming. Men approached me, armed and armored. They looked terrified. I smirked darkly. As they should be. Even dying, I was not a foe to be underestimated. The sword in my hand was heavy, so heavy, but I lifted it regardless. The advancing men stopped, sudden terror breaking across their young faces. I shuddered and collapsed back against the rock face._

_A raven landed on my shoulder and cawed right next to my ear. I glared at it hatefully. I knew I would be dead soon, but couldn't I get some respect in the brief time there was left? Then I saw the fey intelligence in those beady eyes. I would have spat at Her, but I barely had the energy to breathe, much less spit. Darkness washed in at the edges of my vision. "Are you content?" I asked the bird in a hoarse whisper. "Did you get what you wanted?" Not great last words, but not horrible either._

_The soldiers were advancing at a crawling pace, weapons held before them like talismans against a demon. I felt a weary chuckle form in my throat. It never made it past my lips._

When I came to, I was kneeling on the floor of the chamber. The other Fae were gone, even Naime. Only the Morrigan and I remained. I looked up at her again, braced for more visions not my own, but none came. Her eyes were cold and impassive. She must have known what I would see. I licked my lips and decided to do something foolish. "What was it that I saw?"

"The memory of one long dead. Remember, Stewart, it is at the guarding of thy death that I am; and I shall be." Without another word she turned on her heel and departed the chamber.

The black bird that had also partaken of the ritual water flitted out of the darkness to my shoulder. I slowly rose back to my feet and looked over at it. It opened its beak and said, "You fucked that one up, huh?"

**See you when I see you.**


	11. No Matter How Hard I Try

**Authorial Note: Bit of a short one, I haven't been given much time to write, and I'm only halfway through 12, so it didn't seem right to merge the two. Anyway, I'll be sending Twelve to you when I finish it, rather than on the usual update schedule. So...Wednesday maybe? Enjoy.**

Chapter Eleven: No Matter How Hard I Try

"What do you mean?" I asked the bird. Then I realized I had just _asked a bird a question._ Staying in Faerie was getting to me faster than I would have believed possible.

Stranger and stranger, the bird actually replied, in a surprisingly masculine voice, too. "I mean you screwed the pooch, Stewart. Well, not literally, I hope. Anyway, you pretty well ballsed up handling the whole 'I have memories of the only person you ever loved' thing."

I stared openly at it. "First off, who," I stopped and held up a hand. "Actually, better question- what in the hell are you? Secondly, what are you talking about?"

The bird (and as I focused harder I realized it was a raven. The new knowledge in my head apparently _was_ an ornithologist.) Hit me in the back of the head with its wing. It was a very… human thing to do, for a bird. "I'm Cúchulainn, dumbshit." It leaned back slightly on my shoulder and paused, and the gesture reminded me of a person struck by a sudden thought. "Well, I'm the sum of Cúchulainn's personality and memory put into a raven. Neat, huh? Oh and calm down, I'm not actually talking as you understand it. We're communicating in a way that-" It stopped and considered me seriously. "Suffice it to say that I am not making actual sound; you're just interpreting what I mean that way."

I must have still looked puzzled, for the bird -Cúchulainn- sighed. This came as a bit of a shock, because birds can't sigh. At least, they can't sigh like a human does. "Look, you know all that cool stuff in your head?" I felt around a little. Yep, the encyclopedic knowledge on how to kill stuff was still present. "Most of that comes from me. Or, who I was. I mean... Fuck it. It's me who learned those things. The more recent stuff came from a mixture of the Morrigan and her other servants more in touch with the real world." I gaped as it openly spoke her name. "Yeah yeah, I'm a complete badass, I know."

It pecked me in the head, not hard enough to hurt but enough to get my attention. "Now, I want you to listen carefully. She loved me. Him. You. Dammit. Cúchulainn. And She killed him too. Or ensured his death, something like that. I still don't understand it, and it actually happened to me. Him. Augh, just, fuck it, I'm referring to everyone who was me as the current me. Anyway, what you're going to do is go out and kick wholesale ass. Fulfill the mission you were given. I'll be along to help you out. And then you're going to be loyal, like I wasn't. You're going to be the best damn Chosen She's ever even contemplated." Cúchulainn hopped along my shoulder, moving closer to my ear. "I didn't do this right back when I was alive, so it's up to you now. You can look through my memories later, but I warn you, I was not a righteous warrior fighting to protect the innocent. I was a bastard who did what we wanted, and backed it up with a sword."

I opened my mouth to speak and he pecked me again. I closed my mouth. "So, we're gonna go save your buddies and then we'll sort the rest of this shit out, okay? Just remember to keep Her happy, and I'll be happy. Cool?"

I tried a wan smile. "Okay."

Cúchulainn couldn't change his facial expressions, but I got the feeling that he would have been smiling encouragingly if he could. "Awesome. Let's get the hell out of here before She starts collecting kidney blood again."

Not even gonna ask. Frowning I held a hand out to the air. "I'll try to open a Way, but I'm not quite su-" And suddenly I was sure. I could open a Way like nothing. It was as easy as breathing. A hole in reality opened before me, and I could see what looked like sand dunes in front of me. Shrugging, I stepped out onto the sand. "Where to now, uh, Coo-chu…Augh. Whatever. Where do we go next?"

The raven sighed again. How in the hell it was doing that, I had no idea. "Just call me Charlie. I like Charlie, good name. Anyway, you tell me." I was about to say that I had no idea before I realized, again, that I did in fact know. I set off trudging through the sand.

I opened another way about three hundred feet from where we had appeared. I crossed over into a forest made of rock. The silence was oppressive, almost malicious, and I hurried to the next stop. I opened another Way, and I realized I was in a deserted industrial park. Moreover, I was in Boston. A savage grin stretched across my face. Forward progress at last. Night had fully fallen in my city, and I had high hopes of sneaking into my house unnoticed by Clara or her cronies. After all, she had thought me dead.

I looked down and realized I was still naked. Dammit all to hell. I trudged to the factory at the center of the little park, careful to keep my eyes on where I stepped. I made it to the building without impaling my foot on something sharp and rusty, and considered that a victory. The small "Employees Only" door was padlocked, but it broke open at a murmured word. Well, I say broke open. It exploded apart like a damn grenade. Without my foci, I was about as subtle as a charging rhino. Cúchulainn, sorry, _Charlie_ chuckled. "Smooth, buddy. Smooth."

Grumbling under my breath I walked inside. The raven flapped his wings and launched off my shoulder, talons digging into my skin. Asshole. I searched for a bit and found the employee lockers. They didn't fit particularly well, but I found a set of clean jeans and a long-sleeved shirt after exploding a few more padlocks. I stole a jacket from another locker and threw it on over the long sleeved shirt. Add that to the sturdy tennis shoes in yet another locker and I felt halfway human again.

I felt a bit bad about taking them, but I reasoned it was for a good cause. I'd break in again when I had time and leave a few hundreds to fix the locks and pay for the clothes.

I reached the road and got my bearings, starting the walk to home. I desperately wanted to go immediately hunt down Clara, but I needed to prepare. No better place to do that than home. That and I needed a tie. If you can't kill your enemies in style, then what's the point? Charlie alternated between flying just above me and riding on my shoulder, and I was glad of his presence.

My street was cordoned off. I wasn't especially surprised. After all the noise we'd made, police response was inevitable. Add that to the new wall through the middle of the road, and, well, heads will roll. What was surprising was that, besides the crime scene tape, there weren't any other signs of an active investigation. No cops milling about, no flashing lights. I was suddenly seized by a horrible thought and sprinted towards my house.

I saw a fresh newspaper in the driveway of one of my neighbors, and detoured to grab it. I shook out the front and checked the date. My heart leapt up into my throat. Two days, it had been two days. God only knew what Clara had been doing to them with two days to spare. I dropped the paper and walked towards my house in a daze.

On the way I saw a glint of silver in the roadside ditch and stopped to examine it further. It was Smith's sword.

And suddenly I knew a lot more about it than I thought was possible to know. The smith who made this blade was quite frankly, amazing. It was styled after old German arming swords, but the actual metalworking was flawless, completely beyond any mere mortal smith. Enchantment upon enchantment was worked into the steel, something my new knowledge pointed out with ease. I knew the sword would be balanced for Smith, and would throw off my fighting style if I tried to use it. Still, the quality of the blade would make up for such a disruption. I stopped and retrieved the shining sword. The second I wrapped my fingers around the hilt I realized that the sword wouldn't work for me. Not the way it worked for the Warden. That was fine; if I had acquired just a piece of inhumanly perfect sharp metal, well, that was cool too.

There was no way the police could have missed a freaking sword. How had it not been snatched away as evidence? Whatever, it didn't matter. I resumed my walk to the house. At least they had broken a path through Smith's impromptu barricade. My house was cordoned off even further, but I ducked under the crime scene tape.

I changed into a spare suit and tie. My favorite coat and all my best foci were either ruined beyond repair, or still in the possession of the Morrigan. Either way, I wasn't getting to use them anytime soon. Frankly, I couldn't afford the time to craft new ones either. Looked like it was time to put my new expertise to the test.

"Charlie!" The raven fluttered down to my shoulder and stared at me. "Tracking spells, how do they work? I don't really have much in here," I tapped my skull, "On that topic. And I never learned before."

Charlie couldn't quite roll his eyes, but he could get damned close. "Gods grant me patience; it's like teaching Láeg all over again. Did She even bother give you anything other than the violent bits?" He tried to roll his eyes again. "Never mind, I just realized how stupid that question is. Alright kiddo, find something of the person you want to find. Hair from a hairbrush, fingernail clippings, something along those lines.

I went into the guest room Sam had slept in and examined the pillows on the bed carefully. With a relieved exhale I stood back up, one of his blond hairs between my fingers. "Good," cawed Charlie, "Now comes the hard part. You need a compass or something. Well, the spell doesn't really _need_ one, but for you it's advisable." He hopped closer. "Because _you_ need one. _You_ can't do a tracking spell without it." He sighed at my dour face. "You're a _dumbass_ is what I'm driving at here."

I chuckled under my breath. "Sam is just going to love you."

The bird looked at me in a manner that looked no different than usual to the eye, but somehow projected a sense of offended dignity. "You mean your Dragontouched friend? Yeah, don't think so. If his master is who I think it is, I'll be doing my best to never talk to him ever." I threw my hands up in surrender and set to searching.

As it turned out, I _did_ have a compass. Hell if I knew where or when I'd gotten one, but I wasn't about to start inspecting the mouths of gift horses. I held the compass up to Charlie's beady eyes and gave it a little shake. "Now what, smartass?"

He chuckled darkly. "You press the hair against the compass, and you forge a thaumaturgical link to the rest of your friend. The needle should spin away from North to point towards him." I did as he asked, and lo and behold, the needle swung 'round until it pointed North-Northwest. I grinned.

"Come on Charlie, let's relieve the glory days."

**For those of you gentle folk who wish to know what in the hell is going on with the visions, read up on Celtic Mythology, for everyone else, I think you can intuit enough to get the gist of it.**


	12. Bitch, Please

Chapter Twelve: Bitch, Please

I walked a few blocks away from my house before hailing down a cab. I just told the guy to go northwest and sat back to consult silently with Charlie. He was currently hiding in the side pocket of my suit's jacket. We figured a man walking around with a raven on his shoulder would attract way too much attention. Smith's sword was strapped to the inside of said jacket with crude replicas of the runes that used to do the same for my scepter. It was a bit uncomfortable to wear with a shorter coat, but beggars cannot be choosers.

"First thing you need to know about swordplay is that the real fight is in the mind. If you can't win there, you're going to end up as someone else's bitch." I looked down and raised an eyebrow at him. "Yes yes, you have all this in your mind, I know. But there are some things you need to hear at least once from a master, not from his memories."

I silently acknowledged his point. "Now then, you're a wizard. Play to your damn strengths. You may have all the memories of me being a total badass, but your muscles don't. There's only so far you can go without the ingrained reflexes and automatic movements you'd get the old-fashioned way. If I were you," He affected a rigorous shudder, "I'd kill myself, first off. But in this scenario, if I were you, I'd stick to your guns. Evocation, evocation, evocation."

Only now did I start to feel the nerves coming on. My hand unconsciously crept to where my shield amulet usually hung. I glared at it and forced myself to put both hands in my lap. Until now I had been consumed by equal urges of revenge and rescue. It was only at the precipice of my action that I began to consider the difficulty of my task. Last time we had met, Clara had slapped me down like a two-bit swindler. I was stronger now, and smarter, but I honestly couldn't be sure who would win out the day.

Charlie continued dispensing advice at rapid speed, but I was only half-listening. I knew Sam would likely be out of the fight after two days of Clara's attentions. Mary wouldn't be useful even if she was intact. Smith was probably in the same situation as Sam. Looked like it was just me. Without my foci, without my backup. Lovely.

The compass needle twitched down to point straight west, and I told the driver to turn. It swung back to pure north again, and I tried to stare as far ahead as possible, searching for a likely place. We reached the end of the road and turned right. The Compass spun to point straight south. I told the driver to stop and paid him before setting off at a brisk walk. Charlie hopped out of my pocket and took off into the sky, searching.

I walked an entire block before the compass told me to turn to my right. And there it was, just across the street. An abandoned warehouse. I swear all these villains have the same playbook. I let the tracking spell fade away and dropped the compass into my jacket pocket.

I felt Charlie's slight weight settle on my shoulder. "That it?" I nodded silently. "Okay. I suggest you at least _try_ to go in quietly." I raised an eyebrow at the raven. He held up his wings in another of his out of place human gestures. "I said _try._" I shook my head amusedly.

"Charlie, when in your entire history have you been subtle?" The raven opened its beak then closed it without a sound. "Thought so. I'll do my best." I walked nonchalantly to the alleyway that ran along the side of the building. Not a single vampire on watch. Or, well, none that I could detect at least.

I walked down the alleyway sedately, my eyes searching for a means of ingress. There wouldn't be wards, not in a place of business like this. Pretty much any kind of ward was built on the foundation of a threshold, and you only got one of those with a home.

Within a minute I had found a small side door. Unguarded too. Charlie flitted down to land on the doorframe. "You do realize-"

I waved off the rest of his statement. "Yeah, it's obviously a trap. No way in hell the place is _this_ undefended. Only question is, do I spring the trap?" A simple twist of will disabled the runes holding Smith's sword to my jacket, and I grabbed its hilt before it could start falling.

For the first time since my recovery, I let the boiling hate I felt deep in the pit of my stomach surface. Charlie's tone was worried. "I know that look; saw it in the mirror lots before I died. You have to stay calm; rage isn't going to help at all."

I raised my hand, signaling him to be quiet. My voice came out smooth and calm, as if I had been discussing the weather. "My best friend, a man who has risked his life for me on more occasions than I care to count, an innocent girl who was my responsibility, and who I had actually come to think worthy of my friendship, and a complete stranger who took a stand for what was right and paid for it in blood are in that charnel house right now." I turned my eyes to Charlie. I have no idea what he saw in them. "I frankly do not give a fuck."

Charlie was having none of it. "You listen to me right the hell now!" He buffeted the back of my head with a wing. "You go in there like this and nothing good will come of it. Believe me, I know."

As if his words were some sort of trigger, I felt another vision rise to the forefront of my mind.

_A young boy stood before me. He reminded me, in some ways, of myself. There was a certain _presence _to him that was undeniable. Connal lay on the ground, his breathing heavy, sword knocked clear of his exhausted form. I looked to him, and he hid his face in shame. As well he should. Losing to a child had shamed every fighting man of Ulster, and I was in no mood to be forgiving of his incompetence. A good friend Connal may be, but this was just ridiculous._

_ I raised my voice so all in the courtyard could hear. "Who are you, boy? What line do you claim?"_

_ The child replied confidently, yet without arrogance in his tone. "Yet if I were not under a command, there is no man in the world to whom I would sooner tell it then to yourself, for I love your face."_

_ He used his silver tongue well enough, I decided. Another look at Connal and I knew that he must use his sword at least as skillfully. "If you will not reveal who you are, then I must challenge you to a trial by arms." The boy nodded grimly and raised his blade to a casual guard._

_ I felt a slow smile curve its way across my mouth. Even that simple motion spoke volumes of the boy's skill. Not for years had I seen as promising an opponent._

_ The spear I had been given almost leaped to my hand. I spun it in lazy mid-air figures, watching the boy intently as we began to pace in a loose circle. He didn't rush forward into an immediate attack. Smart. He watched me like a hawk, his eyes seeming to take in every errant twitch of musculature. Observant. What an interesting child._

_ When he did make his move, he leaped forward as quickly as lightning, his blade descending with a crushing strength belied by his youth. Still, I was _Cúchulainn. _No stripling boy was going to shame me in a test of arms. I neatly slid his blade aside with the haft of my spear._

_ He responded with a flurry of blows so furious and intense that I, to my own vast surprise, found myself giving ground, backing away from his ferocious assault._

_ Rage started to kindle deep in my stomach. I felt it spread up slowly, a creeping tide of hate. As my vision grew red I felt what little power I had awaken. I ceased losing ground, and began gaining it, lashing out with my spear with all my might, natural and otherwise. Sweat broke out across the boy's brow, and his gain transformed into profound loss. I drove him back through the courtyard._

_ Yet still he resisted me, always just good enough to avoid defeat. My teeth ground together and I forced my powers even higher. My features began to twist and deform, more closely resembling my father than my mother. Shock contorted the child's face, and he threw down his sword without another exchange._

_ I snarled in animalistic triumph. A woman's voice was yelling my name, but I paid it no heed. With a savage thrust, I drove my beloved spear into the interloper's chest. He gasped out a single shuddering breath before falling to the earth._

_ He beckoned me closer, and I let some of my vitriolic hate drain away. It was good to honor a warrior such as he with a witness of his last words. I knelt down next to the boy's head, my ear close to his mouth. "My name," he paused to inhale as much air as he could, "Is Connla. I," He choked on a bit of the blood filling his lungs, and a hint of it showed on his lips. The boy recovered as best he could and continued, "I am the son of Aífe," He drew in a deep breath, "Father." He lifted up one small hand, and I saw a glint of gold about one of his fingers._

_ My towering fury drained from my body in a moment, only to be replaced with grief as wide and as deep as the sea. I clutched my son, dying or dead already, to my chest. A keening wail such as I had never heard before and would never hear after for all the days I would live tore its way from my throat._

I came back to myself slowly, in little bits and pieces. Charlie looked down at me, and I could feel the impression of sadness from his beady eyes. "Don't make my mistakes. Never let hate cloud your judgment."

My own eyes watered, but I forced back the tears. Even though it happened so long ago, and to someone else entirely, I could feel the deep wrenching grief as if it was my own son.

Shaking my head, I pulled myself together. Now was not the time for this, I was standing literally just outside Clara's domain. I took in a deep breath, and with it drew in magic. It ached in my bones, holding so much power without immediately releasing it. I could feel vertigo wash over me, but I focused through it.

Another deep breath, another surge of power burned into me. I lifted a hand, as if in benediction, and muttered, "_Teann._" A small bit of that aching reserve left my body, focused on the doorknob's lock. I bore down on my magic as best I could, trying desperately to keep it under control.

I was half successful. The entire knob fell apart, tiny pieces of the lock clattering to the floor with the shell of the handle. However, at least the whole damn thing didn't explode outwards. I gently pushed the door open. Charlie flew in before me, heading up to what I assumed were the rafters.

What I saw will haunt me until I die. Perhaps the screams and the sights will be with me even then. I still have nightmares about it, from time to time. It was clear at first glance that the whole warehouse was once used to store sides of beef. My breath misted in the suddenly cold air, and hooks hung down from the ceiling. However, there was no bovine meat on display here. Probably hadn't been for quite some time. Instead, men and women hung from the hooks.

Most were dead. I hoped and prayed that most of them were dead. A few truly wretched souls were strung up with the hook through a shoulder, or some other nonlethal area. They groaned and wept in agony, blood coating their flesh as they sagged on the meat hooks.

I walked through the hanging garden of human flesh and fought back the urge to vomit. I couldn't help these people right now. A flicker of my earlier hate reignited deep inside me. I ignored it as best I could, letting cold detachment fill me like a glacial spring.

Faintly, so faintly it could almost have been imagined, I heard a soft crooning voice singing something. It was too low for me to properly make out the words, but I turned to carefully walk towards the sound.

It turned out to be a particularly well dressed vampire. He was singing softly to one of the strung up captives, his nails drawing small cuts from the man's flesh. After every cut it would gently lap up a small trickle of blood and shiver before continuing its song. Though the language was unfamiliar, the tune was undoubtedly something along the lines of a nursery song.

I felt an icy tranquility spread from my head down to my extremities. Almost without thought, I hefted Smith's sword. I looked at the vampire's back and saw precisely where to strike.

I spun quickly and swung the sword with all of my might into the creature's torso. The blade cut into its chest right at lung level, sinking through the gap between two ribs perfectly, the tip of the sword just missing being caught on the bone. The silvered sword cut cleanly through the vampire's lung before it could draw breath to scream a warning. I drew the sword cleanly out of its back before it could lodge in the spine.

While my foe was still stunned, I took a small step to the side, positioning myself to stab forward, slicing cleanly into its other lung, the end of Smith's sword protruding from the front of the thing's chest. A wet, choking gurgle escaped its lips, and I reached towards the back of its head with my left hand. "_Teann,_" I whispered. Instead of my usual wave of force, a small sphere of energy, about the size of a large goldfish bowl, formed around the vampire's head. In the same instant, the force rushed inwards to a single point, pulping its head into a crushed lump of bone with some limp shreds of skin and hanging bits of musculature still attached here and there. A fine scarlet mist escaped from the vampire's destroyed features.

As the vampire's corpse slid down to the floor, I stared at my empty hand incredulously. Since when could I do _that? _A gentle flutter of amused _feminine_ chuckling sounded in my head. Thoughts came unbidden to my mind, again with those subtle tinges of the female. _Before, you were a tool. Now, you are a weapon._ What had I gotten myself into this time?

I tried my best to ignore the Morrigan's words. I'd deal with the problem after the current crisis was handled. I continued to skulk through the rows of hanging people. One of the fresher bodies reached out a hand towards me, his eyes silently pleading. I shuddered and kept walking, feeling the weight of his pitiful eyes on me with every step. I couldn't spend the time required to help everyone still alive. I'd get them assistance afterwards, but I just didn't have the _time._

Eventually I emerged from the hideous gallery of flesh and blood, and saw that nearly a third of the warehouse had been walled off to serve as an office building of sorts. It went all the way to the ceiling, about two or three stories, and several windows were set into the wall to allow one to observe the floor below. I flicked a little blood off the warden's silvery blade as I approached the door. I lifted my hand, palm out, and brought my power to bear. A moment before I could cast the spell that would send the door flying off its hinges, I remembered Charlie's warning to be subtle.

With a sigh I lowered my hand and placed my back against the cold wall. With careful deliberation, I slid towards the first story's window and looked into the room as best I could without revealing my whole damn fool head.

The room within was a pretty stereotypical office setting. However, the room's desks had all been shoved against the walls, only leaving space for the door to open and close. An opening in the back wall led to a set of stairs heading upwards. In the center of the room several Reds paced slowly around a hunched figure. I moved my head back out of view before a particularly observant one could notice me. I could hear muffled laughter coming from the room.

A quiet flutter of wings caught my attention, and I felt Charlie land on my shoulder. "That it?"

I nodded silently and moved to stand in front of the door again. The raven took off from my shoulder, and I raised my foot to kick in the door.

Imagine my surprise when the door opened just as my foot would have connected with it. Instead of kicking in a door, a vastly surprised vampire took a boot directly to the gut, cutting him off mid-sentence from whatever he had been saying to his compatriots. The limp creature flew back, colliding with one of the desks, flipping over it bodily and collapsing to the floor.

I grinned without mirth. "Evening gentlemen, good to see you again." I kid you not; they all just stood there and _stared_ for a full second. I was a bit leery to use most of my more destructive magics while their captive, who I still couldn't see properly, was in the room. However, that didn't mean I couldn't use anything at all. I pulled a single steel ball bearing from my suit's pocket and held it between my index finger and thumb. I had grabbed a handful from the stock I'd had stored for the testing of my –until now- unworkable magic gun idea.

While I may not have learned how to do tracking spells, the Morrigan's knowledge was more than sufficient to teach me how to throw small objects at high velocity. I positioned my hand to point at one of the vampires, the ball bearing focused about chest height. "_Teann,"_ I whispered, and the small bit of steel shot towards my foe like a bullet from a gun. Which was _precisely_ the idea.

The small bit of steel blew through the vampire's chest far better than I'd dared to hope. I could hear several bones shattering, and the creature let out a wet gurgle of agony as it fell. The ball bearing impacted against the wall and drove itself into the concrete about an inch deep before stopping. I didn't even bother to reach inside my pocket for more ammunition, the vampires were already moving. I brought Smith's sword to bear, grasping the hilt with two hands.

These vampires were not blood thralls. They were educated, at least moderately intelligent, killers. Only one rushed me head on, and it was moving so fast I only managed a single, easily dodged, swing before it was inside the effective range of my blade. An open palm of disgustingly rubbery flesh impacted my face, and had it not been for my newfound powers, that would have been the end of Jason Stewart.

As it was, I rocked back under the force of the blow. The vampire overextended itself on the strike, clearly expecting it to have killed me already. I gripped the vampire's shoulder with my free hand and said, "_Tintreach!_" Lightning coursed through my palm and down through the creature's torso. Its back arched as the electricity caused it to spasm involuntarily.

The stench of burning flesh, mingled with the acrid tang of scorched rubber, filled the air. I pulled my hand away from the crisped vampire, and pointed it at the others. I spoke calmly, though I desperately wished to scream and yell my fury to their hideous faces. "Do you all really want to go through _that,_" I pointed at the still-twitching corpse at my feet, "Just so your employer can soak up the glory from your bosses?" They immediately halted all their movement, heads tilted on a slight angle, like dogs hearing an unfamiliar sound. It was creepy as all hell. I know it doesn't sound like much, but human beings just aren't capable of being that _still._ "If you get out in the next ten seconds, I will not harm you further, nor will I send anyone else after you."

I paused for effect. Some say that to bluff effectively, you have to know theater. I say that to know theater, you have to be able to bluff effectively. "If not, well, if not then I will visit such horrors upon your frail bodies that you will _beg_ for the mercy of death."

They were definitely considering my over-dramatic proposal, and the charred corpse of their former comrade was certainly making an effective bargaining tool, but I could sense it was time for a little push. "Ten."

They vanished with preternatural speed. I grinned. These guys had nothing on negotiating with pixies. Oddly enough, some of the tiniest fae tended to be the most intensely possessive of their debts, and made for extremely tough bargainers.

My smile faded as I saw the bleeding man they had been amusing themselves with. He slumped down on the ground, dark hair mussed and chaotic. I strode over to him and rolled him onto his back. It was Smith.

I pressed my ear to his chest, and heard a definite heartbeat. At least he was still alive, small miracles and whatnot. They had stripped off his shirt and cloak, and I could see various implements of his wizardly craft tossed in a corner with his clothing. Cuts adorned his chest and back, and just from looking at his deathly pallor I could see he was dangerously low on blood.

A hint of recognition flared in his eyes, and his hand gripped my arm with sudden strength. "Stewart," he gasped, "How did you-" He was cut off by a coughing fit that brought a slight dribble of blood to his lips.

As he struggled to lift himself to a sitting position, I gently forced him back down. He complied with no real resistance, groaning in agony with every movement. "She's upstairs. Go." I had no need to ask who. I could see Smith losing his grip on consciousness, his eyes fluttering towards closing.

"Smith. Smith!" I shook him a bit. "I need you to listen to me! Where did they take Sam?"

He opened his eyes again with what looked like regret and, instead of speaking, simply pointed upwards. I nodded and thanked him. Smith slipped gratefully into sleep. Sleep, or unconsciousness, hopefully the former. I headed for the stairs, and paused to look back at him regretfully. If only I had the time.


	13. Let's Do This

**Author's Note: Hot damn I fell behind. Waaaay behind. In any case, here's Chapter 13, a bit behind schedule, but existing. I was...meh. This chapter felt kind of meh when I wrote it, but I am pleased with most of the action. In any case, just one or two more chapters, then an epilogue, and Red Days will be all wrapped up.**

Chapter Thirteen: Let's Do This

Charlie flew through the open door, and perched on one of the desks pushed to the side of the room. "How you doin', kid?"

I smiled, and I could feel it die before it reached my eyes. "Just great, Charlie, just… Great." I turned away from the bird. "Unfortunately, I simply do not have the time for consultation right now." I swallowed down a lump of fear that formed in my throat. My shoe gently pressed down on the first stair. I felt another wave of fear run through me.

This was no simple magic, designed to turn me away from my foe's sanctuary. No, this was just who I was. A coward. I felt my hands tremble as I tried to force myself to climb higher. It was easier when I was just reacting to the enemy, or when I had friends more potent than a bird at my back. Going to face an opponent who by rights should have killed me was an absolutely horrifying prospect. I wanted to be bold, I really did, but my foot was stuck to the bottom step with an adhesive far stronger than glue.

Sweat broke out on my brow. I didn't want to do this. No part of me wanted to go up these stairs and face the monster I knew was waiting for me. Charlie flitted over to my shoulder. "It's okay to be scared, kid. We all are, before the storm hits."

I looked over at him desperately. "She chose wrong, Charlie. I'm no warrior; I'm barely even a damn wizard. I'm a coward, and I don't know if I can do this." The horrible remembered sensation of burning washed across my scarred chest, and a violent shudder ran through my extremities.

An angry flush rose from my neck to my face. Shame mixed with fear, and distilled into despair. Clara had pretty much killed me last time, there were horrible odds I'd win against her again, even with my new abilities.

Charlie spoke slowly, weighing each word. "Listen, kid, I understand being afraid. _She_ can't change who you are, only give you the tools to reshape yourself." He hopped down from my shoulder and flexed his wings, landing on the step next to my foot. "If you don't go up there and face her down, you will never live past this moment." His beady avian eyes bored into mine. "You'll survive, sure, but you won't live. Not really. I can't tell you what to do, Jason, I can only tell you what I know."

I nodded shakily. He continued. "You need to go up there and save your friend's sorry ass, and then lay the smackdown on that vampire's scrawny one. You can, and you will." He hopped onto my foot. "Because, Jason, you have some part of me in you. And I know the Morrigan wouldn't put my spirit into a man who would cut and run on what mattered."

A shuddering breath filled my lungs with air. It tasted sweet, despite the stale warehouse interior. My fear wasn't gone, or reduced, not really, but it seemed… Diminished somehow. It was less important to me, less influencing. My hand found the stair railing and gripped it firmly. I took one slow, shuddering step upwards, and then, like a dam breaking, I sprinted up the rest. Charlie gave a startled caw, but joined my ascent. I lost track of him quickly. My vision narrowed until all I saw was the next step.

I am not a brave man. There will be no songs written of my heroism. I am a coward through and through. But I am a loyal coward, dammit, and Sam deserved better. They all did, Mary, Sam, Smith, those poor unknown bastards hanging from hooks in the warehouse; they all deserved someone who could save them. And today, they'd have to settle for me.

The flight of stairs was short, and I didn't stop at the second story office door, instead barreling through it at top speed. Eldritch energy filled me up as I drew in the very essence of life and set it to spinning within my mind. Intricate webs of energy and complex patterns of imagination filled my consciousness.

It all broke apart rather suddenly when a pale forearm clotheslined me barely a step into the room. My feet flew out from underneath me as I pitched onto my back. A groan escaped my lips as the air was knocked clear from my lungs. So much for the heroic rescue, huh?

But, all was not yet lost. I leapt up from my prone position with speed I had never possessed before, and managed to avoid a simple punch that would likely have shattered my ribs. I brought Smith's sword to bear, holding it like a brand between my fragile form and the vampire. Clara snarled at the sight of it, glaring at the silvery blade.

I took a chance and looked around the room. This must have been the head honcho's office, back in the day. A single desk, file cabinets along the wall behind said desk, and two chairs in front of it. Rather thick wires ran from a fuse box placed in the wall up towards the ceiling. All of this placed in a rather needlessly spacious setting. Definitely the room of a boss. A very thin layer of dried blood marred the floor's surface, a sight that fed the fires of my rage.

And there in a corner, tossed rather haphazardly, where the limp forms of Sam and Mary. The former was coated liberally in blood. I looked closer at him, thinking that she had drenched his skin entirely in some places. I was wrong. Upon closer inspection, I saw that several patches of Sam's skin were just… Gone. The muscle beneath was exposed, and I could see the involuntary trembling of his limbs firsthand. Mary's eyes were wide, staring at nothing. She was obviously strung out on the vampire's potent saliva.

"_Stewart?_" Clara hissed. "How are you even-?"

"Hey, Clara, guess what?" I smiled without mirth. "_Tintreach!"_

I moved a hand from the sword, and lightning leapt forth from my outstretched fingers. Clara spat a single word, a shimmering bit of protective magic rising smoothly in the path of my bolt. No matter.

The two forces collided, and I cut the energy to my spell, letting it spark to a quiet death. Clara stared out at me from behind her half-dome of shield, disbelief and a slowly mounting bit of rage competing for dominance on her face. I smiled cheekily, trying to conceal my terror. "You really should confirm all your kills before you leave the scene. Sloppy, Clara, simply sloppy."

She responded by leaping behind the room's desk, before single-handedly flipping it over with such force that it headed straight for my rather breakable skull.

I saw a brief flash of forest scenery, and a glinting spear speeding towards me before I felt _something_ take control of my body. Without my instruction, my body sinuously ducked under the desk and rose, all in one controlled motion. An unearthly laugh left my lips, the voice an octave or two below my own.

The voice taunted Clara, its accent thick. "Is tha' the best ye have? An eight year old _child_ came closer tae killing me than ye have, _vampire_." Without being told, I seemed to know what to do. Magical power filled my body, and I shaped it into the first form I can ever remember making. Kinetic energy. "_Teann!"_ The voice yelled with my mouth, and I released the energy through my extended palm.

Instead of a wave of kinetic wrath, I produced a (relatively) tightly focused stream of force, about as wide as my torso. Clara was just a fraction of a second too late in raising a shield, and my tightly compacted magic struck her full on. Her flesh-masked body flew through the air, smashing into the far wall with a great thud of impact. My soul exulted as a gasp of pain escaped her lips. Abruptly, I felt whatever presence that had co-opted my body leave as unexpectedly as it came.

Clara slowly rose to her feet. I didn't bother taking advantage of the ruse. When she was legitimately injured enough to be slowed, perhaps then. Until that time, I didn't see the need in wasting magical energy when she could still easily move out of the way.

"You know something interesting I learned recently?" I looked down at Smith's sword with a critical eye. Hopefully the alloy would be conductive enough to try this. "Energy is energy is energy. Magical, electrical, kinetic, thermal, it all breaks down to the same stuff. A lot of self-taught practitioners never get that. Of course, I'm not going from one to another, not really. You could say I'm just being… resourceful." I swung Smith's blade with all my might, the keen-edged steel slicing into the thick cables protruding from the fuse box.

I really hoped this worked. If not, I was about to suck a pretty big chunk of what I usually dished out. Electrical current arced from the sword to my arm, where it met a firm bit of magic. The electricity was converted into a less heart-stopping medium, magic. I then funneled that stream of power into a single lightning spell that I held firmly in my mind. There was some loss in transition, of course, but basically I got to turn a building's power into a single potent spell of lightning.

I grinned in victory. Now, to not miss. I raised my hand to point at Clara. "_Tintreach._" Like before, I produced a fan of lightning, not a single bolt. She snarled and raised a shield, fingers splayed in a defensive gesture. It was a fine shield, perfectly capable of blocking my usual bolts.

But this time, I was riding on the heights of the best electricity the fine city of Boston could provide. The electricity simply bulled through her shield, shattering it in a brief, coruscating flash of light. Clara's screams were otherworldly. To this day, I think back on her agony and smile. But, all good things must end. I felt the spell beginning to fray, energy starting to dissipate in directions I didn't especially feel like it going. Namely, my squishy organs.

I yanked Smith's weapon out of the potent electromagnetic field I had created. A few of the warehouse lights dimmed, and some went out, but for the most part the electrical system carried on admirably. Good thing I'd only cut one wire. I smiled down at Clara's smoking body, twitching feebly.

They say pride goes before a fall. I've never seen the phrase used so literally. Just as I began to really savor the vindictive joy of seeing Clara electrocuted, she was back on her feet. I barely had time for my eyes to widen before she crossed the room and tackled me. I brought the sword down towards her back, and I could feel the blade meet the strange resistance of flesh. If you've never stabbed someone, it's difficult to understand just how it feels in your hand when a blade pierces skin and fat and muscle. Though, with Clara, I penetrated skin and then what felt like thick rubber. Even as I pulled the sword free to try another slash, I saw her flesh heal over, black vampire flesh and illusory mask both forming back seamlessly.

Instead of slowing once she had hit me, Clara pushed against the ground harder, driving both of us towards one of the office's windows overlooking the main floor. I felt my back crash into the pane of glass, cracking it, and for a moment I thought it was going to hold.

Since when have I been so lucky?

The glass shattered under our combined weight and force, and both Clara and I were flung into the empty air.

Naturally, we didn't get to stay there very long.

Gravity brought us crashing down to the concrete floor soon enough. And this was simply too much for even my enhanced durability. I felt shards of glass penetrate my clothes and flesh, driven deep from the combination of the fall and my weight.

Something in my left arm snapped under the unrelenting force, and I barely managed to stifle my cry of pain. I really wanted to go home now. Clara straightened on top of me, her eyes, both pairs, lit by triumph. She drew back a fist to crush my skull, and I couldn't help but be reminded of our very first scuffle, back in her old office.

There was no thaumaturgic way out this time. No clever bit of spellwork. I felt my right hand clench on a hard piece of metal, fear causing my muscles to-

Wait. I am such an idiot. I have a _sword!_ I swung out with Smith's blade, the force compounded by my newly augmented speed and ferocity. Clara managed to sway back in time to avoid the worst of the desperate slash, but the tip of the sword managed to draw a thin line of blood across the length of her torso.

Faster than the eye could see, she leapt back from me, her ragged voice hissing in abject hate. I struggled back to my feet, keeping the shining metal between myself and Clara. I could feel the glass in my back wriggling its way free of my flesh as my wounds attempted to heal. No one had mentioned the job offer came with a free healing factor. Awesome. A rather large portion of my fear eased its grip on my rapidly beating heart. I was sure this new boon had its limits, and there was no way I'd be testing them vigorously, but it was nice to know I was a little less fragile.

When the bone in my arm set itself, wrenching back into place violently, it proved less awesome. I hissed out a breath in reaction to the sudden burst of agony. Clara watched me warily, with something approaching my own fear in her inhuman eyes. Good. I fondly hoped she would die terrified. "_Tintreach!"_ I yelled, sending yet another bolt of electricity towards my foe.

She didn't bother raising a shield this time. Instead, Clara flung herself sideways. As my lightning arced past her, Clara hissed an incomprehensible word, and fire sprang from her palm, the crackling heat headed unerringly towards me.

I raised my own hand in reply, defensive magics coalescing around my outstretched fingers for a moment before manifesting as my familiar shield. Without the amulet there was no element of heat to it, but it was still a potent barrier. The fiery magic struck the shield and held fast. It reminded me of napalm in a way, though there was no substance being burned, only the fire itself.

I dropped my shield and let the fire spatter onto the floor. I hoped it would stop burning soon, but beggars can't be choosers. There was another surreal moment of silence as Clara and I stared at each other.

"How are you alive?" She hissed, regular eyes narrowed in suspicion. Her glowing pair was wider, seemingly more curious than scared. The strange fire crackled between us, and I could feel the heat on my face.

"Well, the same way you survived, monster. I made a deal I didn't want to." I smiled bloodily. "Unfortunately for you, I seem to have picked a master that's less," I hoisted as sarcastic a look of sympathy I could muster onto my face, "Impotent than yours."

She grinned back, far too many teeth visible in her smile. "I can hear your heartbeat. You're scared out of your wits." A mocking laugh split the air. "For all your newfound power, you're still just a coward."

"Yep. But, at least I have wits to be scared out of, eh? _Tintreach!" _Clara tried to dodge in time, but wasn't quite fast enough. Admittedly, if I hadn't kept a hold of the spell in my mind to alter it, she would have dodged the lightning with ease. Unfortunately for her, I managed to change the trajectory of the bolt in progress just enough. A startlingly blue arc of electricity struck her hip, and her leap turned into a mid-air spasm. She crashed to the floor, smoke rising from the glancing hit.

She sprang back to her feet immediately. But, then again, perhaps not quite fast enough. "_Teann!_" I focused on how my force spells used to be, a wash of kinetic force, instead of a thin needle or an enclosed space. One of the first lessons of wizardry is that imagination is everything. If I wanted my kinetic force spell to be a wave, then I was damn well going to have a wave.

The spell was sloppy without my scepter to focus it, and some of the energy bled into light and sound. So it was that a greenish wave of energy erupted from my palm accompanied by a roar of deafening proportions.

In the instant before the spell hit, I saw chitinous plates slide in place over Clara's unprotected flesh. She threw up her arms in an instinct older than written language, and the force rolled over her like a wave. More chitin sprang from the plates covering her legs to dig itself into the ground, bracing against the impact. As she drew magic into the armor, I saw the last traces of her earlier napalm-fire fade away, leeched for the magical power it had held.

Her improvised defense held. Barely. The wave of force hit her like water hitting a cliff. As it passed, Clara leapt forward, her fingers outstretched and sheathed in claws of insectoid plating.

I didn't want _any_ of that. But, regardless of my desires, she was just too damn fast. I raised Smith's blade to try and intercept her claws, and partly succeeded. One of her plated hands gripped the blade, attempting to crush the metal in her inexorable grip. Whoever it was that made these swords knew their stuff, and all she got for her trouble was a thin cut along the chitin that touched the blade.

The other hand, however, was rather resolutely focused on my face. I ducked down as low as I could while keeping my grip on the sword, and for a moment I could have sworn her claws touched some of my hair. If they did, the connection was fleeting. I could feel the muscles in my right arm burn as they tried to hold on while being contorted so oddly.

I planted my feet firmly and pushed forward as hard as I could, shoulder driving towards Clara's midsection. I have _no_ idea how to do a proper tackle, but this seemed like a pretty good start.

Although I doubt even a flawless tackling technique could have changed the result of my herculean effort. My newfound strength and durability crashed against Clara's armored body, and did jack shit. She brought her fist down on my back, and I felt my grip on the sword finally break. I slammed into the ground hard, and decided to stay there for a little bit. Gravity seemed to concur.

The clatter of metal on concrete sounded, and I saw Smith's blade crash against the warehouse floor a few feet away. It might as well have been on a different continent. I heard Clara's voice overhead. Why does every villain feel the overwhelming urge to gloat? Tharesh did, Slate did, Clara did and currently is, it's just ridiculous.

"Do you understand now, _cattle_?" I would have spat in her face if I could have lifted my head. The pain in my back was blinding. "No matter. Perhaps your friend the Dragontouched will be pleased to see you join him." I felt her hand grab the back of my jacket to haul me up. The tips of my shoes scuffed the ground as she dragged me towards the office portion of the warehouse. I was just glad we hadn't fallen in the field of strung up bodies. I don't know if I could have handled that.

Clara thought me beaten. She thought she had finally crushed the fight right out of me. Too bad for her I had plenty of fight left in me. But, first, I needed to think of a plan and not just dash off and get my damn fool self killed. I thought hard, desperately willing my brain to come up with something, anything.

I was obliged soon enough. An idea came to me. A brutal, bloody idea. I liked it already. Without warning, I slid my arms out of my jacket, crashing down to the floor. Clara released the empty jacket, and I could almost see the first flickers of fire beginning to form in her hand. I didn't give her a chance to prepare a spell properly. Instead, I slammed my palm into the back of her knee and shoved every bit of magic I could muster at once into a single spell. I felt something inside me _shift_, and my spell altered itself. For a moment the whole world was tinged a blinding green, and then it was gone as suddenly as it had appeared. "_Teann!_" I roared, and a burst of energy as wide as my fist collided with Clara's armored knee. At this range, with that kind of force, the armor plating was of no help. It shattered beneath my hand, which was about the same fate the bones in her knee and shin suffered.

The vampire collapsed to the ground, howling in agony. I rolled away from her as fast as I could, though I did manage to snag my jacket from where she dropped it.

I rose to my feet unsteadily. My back still hurt abominably. It seemed the Morrigan only healed me so much as she wanted to heal me. Lovely. A capricious fae controlled my durability in combat.

I shrugged my jacket back on, ignoring the protestations of my back's muscles. They could get over it. Clara lay on the ground, screeching in agony. Her knee was thoroughly trashed; most of the joint pressing against her rubbery flesh in directions it's not supposed to go. Several shin bones stuck out of her flesh, glistening with blood.

I narrowed my eyes when I saw the damage wasn't healing. What was going on here? The chitin plating covering her flesh began to crack. Slowly, ever so slowly, the cracks spread across the entire surface. Then, in unison, the plates shattered, falling away from the vampire's flesh. As soon as they touched the ground, the plates fell apart into thick goo. Ectoplasm. Within seconds even that had evaporated away into nothing.

"No! Not like this, damn you, not like this!" Clara screamed, and she raised a hand in my direction. For a moment I thought she was actually stupid enough to be asking me for mercy. But then I saw it. A small silver coin, liberally coated in tarnish, was gently rolling away from the crippled vampire. It struck my shoe and clattered to the ground. Interesting.

I covered it with my sole and looked down at my once-mighty foe. "Do you remember the last time I killed you?" She didn't deign to respond. "I'm sure you do. Well, here's the thing… So do I." I reached into my jacket pocket and drew out several of my steel ball bearings. They weighed heavily in my palm. I passed one to the other hand and test the heft of it in as visible a manner I can. "Unfortunately for you, I don't like to repeat the same trick twice."

She tried to crawl away. Of course she did, it's only natural to flee from death. I smiled and felt nausea twist my stomach into knots. I'd killed in combat before, but never like this, never… I bent down and used the sleeve of my jacket to pick up the coin, depositing it in the pocket of my jacket. No sense at all in leaving something like that just laying about.

I advanced after Clara, easily keeping her in view. Her unnatural speed and strength were useless now, and the sudden depowering had her reeling. I was barely even surprised when she tried to turn the tables and fight me. A sick squelching of flesh and bone sounded as she used her one good leg and both arms to get back on her feet. Despite the grievously maimed state of her shattered knee, she actually tried to put weight on it.

I'd used hate to numb pain before, but damn, this is just ridiculous. She screams a word into the silence of the warehouse, and fire bursts from her palm. I stumbled back from the intense heat and call up my shield. The flame gutters out after a few moments and I cautiously let the shimmering haze drop. Her fire was so diminished without the thick napalm-like quality the coin gave it.

Another grim smile split my face, and I held up a small ball-bearing. "_Teann._" The smooth bit of steel shot from my hand, right into Clara's undamaged knee. It shattered the bone as if it was dry wood. Her flesh tore haphazardly, leaving most of the splintered bone open to the air. I probably would have vomited at the sight were circumstances different. Surprisingly enough, the vampire didn't scream. For some reason that incensed me more than anything else I'd seen. What I did while under the haze of that boiling hate is something I will never regret doing, but always regret thinking of.

I sent another ball bearing spinning into her flesh, my face twisted into a hateful grimace. There's one big drawback to magic that no one seems to mention. You have to be focused to use it. And right now? Clara was being prevented from focusing rather effectively.

It took the vampire quite some time to die. I won't relate everything I did, or how long it took for Clara to finally relinquish her mortal coil. Suffice it to say I got the revenge out of my system. May whatever god there is have mercy on my soul.


	14. Could I Get A Break? Please?

**A/N: Hot damn it took forever to write this one. Well, never fear, there's only one chapter after this one and the story will be complete. I'm not sure about writing a sequel or not, but I'll make sure not to leave it too open-ended. In any case, read on and enjoy.**

Chapter Fourteen: Could I Get A Break? Please?

I walked away from the bloody mess of my adversary's corpse. It was… I really don't want to say cathartic, but damn if it wasn't. I felt good. That worried me intensely.

Whatever. Rescue friends now, moral crisis later. I trudged towards the office Clara had taken for her own, every step a mile to my weary legs. Now that the tense energy of combat had left me, I felt drained.

"Sam?" I called out. The weariness in my voice shocked me. I sounded old. There was no response to my shout. "Sam?" Hell, why not try again?

I tried to put a bit of speed into my step. I had no idea if I'd cleared out all the vampires in the building, and my friend could be at the mercy of some flunky right now. I had no idea how fast he could be back to combat ready.

I went to check on Smith, but he remained much the same. I checked his pulse, and it seemed alright to me, though for all I knew his heart was about to catch fire in his chest. I pulled him to a sitting position and tried to lean him against the wall, hoping that would help. If I made it out of this mess, I was taking some courses in first aid if it killed me.

Hell, for that matter, there was no way Mary could even put up a valid resistance, drugged up to the gills as she was. Sudden panic lent me strength, and I managed to stumble into the partitioned area at a stumbling jog. I took the stair as fast as I could, bursting into the room with all the painful dignity I could muster, Smith's sword still clenched in my hand.

He was waiting for me.

Lloyd Slate leaned against the side of the thrown desk, sword clutched casually in one hand. He tapped out a brief tune against the floor, and I could hear a faint humming accompanying the clicking of metal on concrete.

Oh. Fuck.

Sam and Mary were in basically the same place they were when I was last in the room, though I noticed the great patches of missing skin pockmarking Sam's torso were greatly reduced. Even as I watched, I could see the skin slowly pulling together, mending incredibly quickly. Well, compared to your average schmuck.

Slate's head whipped towards the door at my entrance, his face a brief mask of absolute hate before it relaxed into amused neutrality again. "Hey, new guy, what's up?"

A sigh forced its way past my lips. "I'm so tired of this. You just _show up._ How in the hell do you manage to arrive when I least want you around?"

He chuckled darkly. "It never gets any easier, I promise. As for the matter of my arrival… When a Queen of the Fae wants you to be somewhere stealthily, no one on Earth will know you were ever there. So, look, I'm here to grab the girl for Maeve and then make your insides your outsides. Fun times. But, I just saw something quite interesting. You killed that vampire good. You even served the dish Klingon style- nice and cold. Not a lot of people in our field can handle it."

For once I saw a real smile cross Slate's face. Not a grimacing rictus, or a hateful smirk, an honest to God smile. "I'm not going to kill you. I admire your proficiency with revenge. Well, that and I have orders from a lady quite a bit higher on the totem pole than the Lady, if you catch my meaning. She thinks the little experiment you're part of is very interesting."

He gently lifted his sword up to rest the flat of the blade against his shoulder. "That being said, I can't just slink back to Maeve, tail stuck firmly between my legs, so I'm gonna have to take the girl with me." He shrugged uncaringly. "Apparently she's valuable."

I straightened up as best I could. "Like hell you will."

Slate raised a single eyebrow. "You can barely stand. You're in no condition to fight a squirrel, much less me."

I took a shaky step forward, a single hand raised in benediction. "Sam can take care of himself and her, given time to recover. They don't need me around to survive this. If you try it, I will throw a death curse at you powerful enough to turn your bones to dust." I could, too. A plethora of memories rose to the surface of my mind, details on how to precisely go about fueling a final spell.

Slate froze, his empty eyes narrowing. "You couldn't summon up the concentration to light a candle. You're bluffing your ass off." He sheathed his sword suddenly. "And you, Jason old boy, are a _coward_." He must have noticed me stiffen in surprise. "Yeah, I can tell. Damn, I can almost _smell _how scared you are. You're practically shaking in your boots at the thought of dying. You won't do it."

Faster than I could blink, Slate was within striking distance. His fist lashed out towards my face. My newfound knowledge tried to rouse an exhausted hand to block his punch. I didn't have it in me. My hand was halfway to a passable block when his knuckles smashed against my jaw with titanic force, and I was lifted off my feet to slam back against the hard floor.

I wanted to just stay down. To just lie there and let Slate leave with his prize. I wanted it so badly. But Charlie was right. Dammit, the bird was right. I couldn't give up now, not and still look at myself in the mirror. A low groan tore its way through my lungs as I hauled myself back to my feet.

Slate looked bemused at my resistance. "Look, I get it, loyalty and whatnot. But, as I told you a few days back, you need to remember who the butch is and who the bitch is." He whirled, his form literally blurring before my eyes. Something in me _shifted._

My hand whipped up to catch Slate's foot, stopping it a moment away from crushing my skull. A smirk split my face against my will. "Alright then, lad, that's quite enough martyrdom." The weariness in my limbs faded immediately, replaced with a boundless restless feeling. My skin was going to slough off my bones if I didn't move _right the hell now_. I felt my body shift fluidly into a crouch. My leg struck the back of Slate's knee with a vast amount of force. He flipped back, slamming into the ground.

Before I had time to think, he flung himself back onto his feet. I felt my control over my limbs fade even more, my consciousness moving into the background.

My rebellious carcass leapt forward, and my forehead struck Slate's nose with a sick crunching noise. He let out a loud curse, and I felt a little shock of amusement coming from whatever mind had superseded my own. To be fair, expletives couldn't be anything but hilarious with a broken nose mangling the syllables.

Slate danced back, his eyes narrowed in suspicion. Eyes on me the whole time, he wrenched his bloodied nose back into the proper positioning. He slowly slid his sword from its sheath, his gaze still locked on me. "And just what the hell is this?"

The richly accented voice that came from my lips matched the one that had briefly used my vocal chords in the fight against Clara. Oddly enough, the words were less accented, far closer to my own voice than before, though the general tone was the same. "I'm the Hound of Ulster, Slate. Now, the lad here seems to recall you mentioning something about our little dynamic. Well, I believe it's time to change around the roles, bitch."

I felt my shoe slide beneath the crossguard of Smith's blade. My foot flicked upwards, sending the gleaming sword high into the air. I felt the other presence in my head extend my hand towards the hilt, and felt a brief moment of panic. Who the hell actually tries to do this? My hand closed firmly around the grip, and swung the sword in a brief experimental circle. "Fine craftsmanship, though made for a different hand than mine."

Slate knew an opportunity when he saw it, rushing forward with a simple horizontal slash. No style here, just simple economy of movement. It was blocked with almost contemptuous ease. My left hand grabbed the front of Slate's shirt and flung him sideways into the overturned desk. He smashed into the wood with a crunch, sliding to the floor limply. His sword clattered to the floor, dropped from suddenly nerveless fingers.

In a flash Slate was back on his feet, wrath clear on his face. My hand raised in supplication. "Lad, I don't want to do this right now. I have better things to be getting on with. Mab doesn't want you killing me, and Maeve wants you to bring her Mary. I'm simply not going to allow that to happen while I yet live." The words flowed smoothly off my tongue, though each was tinged with an edge of imminent violence. "I understand you're between a blade and an ocean, but frankly, it's not my problem. Just leave and I won't gut you like a fish."

Slate laughed bitterly. "If I fail I'm dead anyway."

The accent in my voice thickened. "Aye, unless you use that space between your ears and listen to me. Appeal to the Queen, not the Lady." I felt the foreign presence in my mind slipping away and I held on to it desperately. Whatever, or whoever, it was, I needed it to survive this. The voice sounded irritated. "Yes, I get it lad, I'm working on it."

Slate looked at me askance. "Champion of Winter, I have no further wish to kick your ass up and down these walls. Simply depart and report back to your mistress."

The Winter Knight eyed me cautiously, his gaze calculating. "Maeve won't kill my against Mab's orders, but she will make every second of my life a living nightmare. At least Mab will just kill me."

I felt the presence in my mind recede again, though the strange energy that filled my limbs remained. A solid font of energy filled me up. It was not the raging surge of fire, or the normal tingling presence of my electrical spells. This was something much more... dependable. I felt this magic like bedrock beneath my feet, immobile and firm. I moved forward to strike Slate, and it was like I simply ignored the space between us.

This was better than anything I'd ever felt before. This was _glorious._ I struck Slate in the chest with an open palm, and he staggered back, wheezing what little air he could into his lungs. My other hand swung, and I heard the dull impact of knuckles on the bare flesh of his face, the sword in my fist lending extra weight to my strike. He stumbled back several steps more, and went down on knee next to his discarded blade. His fingers curled around the hilt and he rose to his feet with a deadly sort of quiet deliberation. The simple amusement on his face was gone.

As Slate recovered, I took a few steps back and stared at the Knight. He wiped a trickle of blood from below his nose and glared at me. Oh hell, he was actually mad now. The temperature in the room dropped by several degrees, and I could see frost beginning to spiral across the walls. Oh. Shit.

A chill entirely unrelated to the cold ran down my spine. The last time the Winter Knight had decided to cut loose, I had run, and run fast. That wasn't an option now. I let the energy the Morrigan had bestowed on me run through my extremities. If running, my favorite option, wasn't available, then I guess I had to fight.

Slate lunged forward, his heavy blade reduced to a toy by his enhanced strength. Cold light gathered around the sword and the air _shrieked _as it sped towards my torso. I barely managed to bring Smith's sword up to parry the strike, directing the gleaming tip of his sword past my vital organs into empty space.

In a blink Slate backpedaled and launched another attack, slashing towards my face. This time, when I parried his blow, Slate merely drew back his blade and moved fluidly into another assault. I skipped back, Smith's sword flashing out in parry after parry, blocking every stroke of Slate's massive sword with split seconds to spare.

Soon enough Slate had me maneuvered against the wall. I could barely raise the sword in my hands to answer his strikes. I might have all the memories of a great swordsman, but untrained and personally inexperienced, I was simply no match for the Knight. I searched frantically through my mind for that _other _presence. I found nothing.

With a cunning little twist of leverage, Slate managed to pry the sword from my hand. He wasn't even breathing hard. "Well what the hell was that? You came in here big and bad, wiping the floor with my sorry ass, and now you just _give up_?" Slate shook his head slowly, mock sadness deep in my voice. "Well, bitch, I think I win this one. I wouldn't have thought you were such a _pussy _without your whore mistress' help."

I didn't want to die. I tried my best to form a spell, to gather the necessary willpower to construct the container for my power, but that damnable chill sunk its fingers into my mind, disrupting every construct before it could form.

Oh God, I didn't want to die.

Slate grinned at me, a predator smiling at his prey after a chase. His teeth gleamed in the cold light streaming from his sword. "I'll make it quick, Stewart. It'll hurt like hell for a bit, but it's much better than you'd get from Maeve for this little bit of defiance." He drew back his blade to end me.

I really didn't want to die. I decided that if I had to go, I would go with my eyes open; really drink in that last moment. If I hadn't decided as such, I wouldn't have noticed that Sam was conspicuously absent from his previous slumped over position on the floor. If I hadn't wanted to die with my eyes open, I would have missed Sam's foot sweep up between Slate's legs with the approximate force of a meteorite entering the atmosphere. The Winter Knight's eyes widened slowly, and his mouth formed a little 'o' of surprise.

The blond man was still pretty beaten up, with patches of his skin still missing, but damn if he wasn't the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen at that moment. Slate keeled over, a low keening sort of noise coming from his open mouth. Sam's foot crunched down on the Knight's wrist, and his fingers sprang open involuntarily, dropping his sword to the ground once again. A tired, bloody, but still present grin split my friend's face. "Yep. That just happened. Bitch."


	15. Miserably Ever After

**AN: And here we are, end of the road. There may or may not be an epilogue. If not, I'll be jumping headfirst into the sequel, so be excited for that. Sorry for the long delay in updating, hope the chapter makes up for it.**

Chapter Fifteen: Miserably Ever After.

Sam chuckled tiredly, and I felt a large portion of my sudden energy simply melt away in the absence of a threat. Immediately, aches and pains sank deep into my bones, all over my body.

What a day. What a damned long day. "Charlie!" I called out.

"Who the hell is Charlie?" Sam slumped against the wall, and I could see his limbs shaking. He needed to get the hell out of here.

"Good to see you too, buddy. Charlie is a new friend of mine, helped me save your ass and everything." I looked around and frowned. "He was with me going up the stairs… Charlie!"

The small raven hopped into sight from the shadowed staircase. He sighed and said in a quiet voice. "We had to get around to this eventually." The raven fluttered over to Sam and flew back and forth past his face. My friend didn't even blink. His eyes didn't react to the bird right in front of him, and he gave no sign of perceiving him at all. "Do you get it now?"

I had to kind of stare at that one. "Charlie, I don't get it at all."

Sam looked at me in confusion. "No, I'm Sam. What's going on?"

"Augh… Just like Laeg. I'm not really here, Stewart. I'm Cúchulainn, yes, but I'm in your head. There is no raven, there never has been. Remember when you were kicking ass a minute ago? That wasn't you, that was me." I stared at Charlie openly.

"Why the charade?" Sam was still confused behind me, trying to puzzle out what I was talking about. I ignored him for now.

"Because you needed me far more than you know." The bird shook its head slowly. "If I hadn't been along, you'd have died three times over."

I was still puzzled. "But why lie about it? It's not like it makes a difference."

Abruptly the raven began to change. His form wavered for a few moments and was gone. In his place stood a giant of a man, at least six and a half feet tall. I'm no twig, but damn. The guy's muscles had muscles to do the lifting for them. His face was coated in scar tissue, and there was a gaping hole in his stomach. "Because of what I have to do next. Sorry kid."

Abruptly I felt every part of my body freeze in place. My heart skipped several beats, my lungs did not inhale. I saw multicolored stars spin before my eyes as I toppled to the ground. Then, just as suddenly as it had come, I felt the paralysis fade, at least in regard to my torso. I sucked in a massive breath of air, my heart beating so fast I feared it would break my ribs.

Sam fell to the ground next to me, and I could hear his desperate questions dimly. It seemed like my ears just wouldn't work properly. I tried to say something, but my mouth wouldn't move except to draw in more air.

Charlie stood over me, a sad little smile on his battle-scarred face. "Sorry kid. Just following orders." He whistled, and I felt the sound pierce me in a way completely unrelated to hearing. I could feel my magic being lashed to his will, tearing open a rift to the Nevernever against my consent.

Naime stepped through the portal. She whispered a few words, and I saw Sam collapse beside me, asleep. I hoped. Naime's eyes caught my own, and she shook her head in mockery. "The fool actually thought she'd leave it to him, didn't he?" For whatever reason, I heard her perfectly.

A laugh that sounded more like choking came from Charlie. "Stewart had the best of intentions. You know he'd never go along with what she has planned for the girl. This was the best way." Naime shrugged delicately and stepped over my motionless form. I suppose it really didn't matter to her perspective, being immortal and soulless.

I glared at Charlie, reaching desperately for some bit of power he had yet to claim. I found none. The image knelt down beside my head. "I really am sorry." _Then do something_, I thought furiously. He flinched back from me as if burned. "There's nothing I can do, and you know it. She'd just kill us both. Well, kill you and, I don't know, disperse me?"

I strained my eyes to see Naime, but she returned to my field of vision soon enough. Mary was slung over her shoulder, and the Fae carried her with no apparent effort. "Well, Jason, I hope you don't hold this against me. Nothing personal. Look me up the next time you're burning to death." She was about to step through the portal when she suddenly turned on her heel, red hair whipping about.

"Cúchulainn, dear, make sure he gets home safely. She wishes to make use of his service again soon." He nodded and without a further word she stalked through to the Nevernever.

I felt my limbs move again, though not under my control. _Why? What is the Morrigan going to do to her?_

Charlie sighed, and he made my body hoist Sam onto my shoulder, an action I most certainly could not have done before. "She's going to trade the girl to Mab for favors and power. Mab will then probably then trade her back to the Reds. The Lady just wanted you to stir the pot a bit, drive up the price. Add that to the solid beating you gave the Winter Knight and a Blackened Denarius, and I'd say she added a bit of awe to her reputation as well."

I fought against his control as best I could, throwing every bit of my essence against the mental shackles that kept me out of my own body. Nothing happened, nothing at all. Charlie wasn't just stronger than me, his mind was fortified by centuries of existence, his will stronger than steel.

He chuckled grimly. "I like you, kid, I really do. You remind me of me, back in the day. But you lost. You have to accept it and move on."

It suddenly sank in. I lost. Mary was going to the den of monsters, and I knew just how horrific that experience was going to be. Sam was beaten and tortured for nothing. Smith was near-dead down below for nothing. I had sold my soul for _nothing. _The Morrigan played me for a fool and I had danced along to her tune.

I ceased my efforts to break free of Charlie's control. The Morrigan had won. Hell, who was I kidding, I had never even been playing. Charlie knew what I was thinking, and I heard him sigh again. His joviality was dead, now that the true scheme was revealed.

"You know, it's not over." I couldn't even summon up a worded response to that. It was more of a disgusted look made thought than anything else. "Jason Stewart, if there is one thing you should learn from my story it's this: it is _never_ over."


	16. Book Two, Chapter One: Well Damn

**AN: Holy hell this took FOREVER to write properly. And it's still pretty short for one of my chapters. I hope you enjoy this brief set up, and I'll try to have some more out to you soon. Any questions or complaints about this, send me a message or leave a review.**

The smoke and scent of a burning vampire is nauseating at two in the morning. Not that it's any worse or any better at any other time, but I like to quote Bond. Regardless of the unpleasantness, the body smoldered lazily in the darkness, small lights showing from still-hot embers burning in the twice-dead flesh. I sucked in a deep breath of the foul air. The horrific odor of burnt muscle mixed in with the scent of similarly scorched wood paneling.

I had caused this. I didn't really regret it, per se, but I was of the opinion that taking any life should be an emotionally impacting experience. So I stood there in the wrecked hotel room and breathed in the smoke rising from the charred corpse. I felt… Hollow. I didn't feel bad about what I had done, and I didn't feel good about it. A derisive snort fought its way past my lips. As if I had expected different.

My feet carried me out of the room without much thought. My mind was too busy to be concerned. Charlie watched me with something akin to concern, but I ignored him with the ease of long practice. I strode from the room, looking as if I hadn't a care in the world.

The spirit that lived in my head was talking. Charlie was, to continue the superspy metaphors, my handler. He kept an eye on me; made sure I didn't stray from the beaten path too far, and advised me when I was working for the Lady. He had been a living, breathing man, once. A... well, he had not been a hero, that's for certain. But he was, in his own way, a good man. A good man trapped by bad circumstances.

I guess that makes Her M. If M had owned Bond's very soul and forced him to do her dirty work that she was probably capable of doing herself. But then, perhaps not. The Fae are bound by rules and pacts that I can scarcely imagine. Perhaps She truly couldn't act in the places and ways that I could.

It's not like it mattered to me, honestly. She said jump, I didn't even bother asking how high, I just shot lightning at something. Hence the barbequed monster I was leaving behind. The Morrigan says go murder a vampire, I go murder a vampire.

Saying no for any reason was entirely out of the picture. A man has to be realistic about these things, after all.

I didn't notice her until her hand pressed against my chest, so busy was I with my misery. Of course, it's not like I could have noticed her even were I alert. The Fae are seen when they damn well please, and not a second before. "Good evening, Naime." The red-haired "Sidhe" smiled cheerily, her fingernails drumming a strange beat into my sternum.

My heartbeat sped up involuntarily. Naime was utterly gorgeous in a way no mortal woman could ever be. I clamped down ruthlessly on my less than pure impulse. Though we served the same mistress, Naime would suck the life out of me faster than I could think if I showed even the slightest sign of weakness. It was in her nature.

"Jason, my dear boy. _So_ lovely to see you again." I kept my face neutral, acutely aware of her gaze roaming over my body. My skin would have crawled if I'd allowed it.

I kept my tongue in check. "What has brought you here, Lady Naime?" Now that I was part of The Morrigan's "Court" I had to observe the niceties.

She hoisted a pouting expression onto her lovely face, and I was struck with just how physically tiny the fae was. "I'm hurt, Chosen. You're not-"She paused and licked her lips in what I can only assume was meant to be a suggestive manner, but which reminded me more of a lioness seeing a sick zebra. "Pleased to see me?"

This time I couldn't contain my shudder. I'd seen her under the Sight, the otherworldly sense that allows a wizard to See things for what they truly are. Naime held about as much sexual appeal for me as a meat grinder after that little episode.

Like all memories formed from the Sight, I could never forget what I saw. Even the barest recollection of it brought the unseemly vision to the forefront of my thoughts. For the briefest moment, Naime's true appearance superimposed itself on her bubbly visage, and I recoiled in horror. My previously smooth breathing had transformed into ragged gasps for air, sudden terror driving the air from my suddenly weak lungs.

There is something in every human being, some old instinct, long buried beneath civilization and modernization. This ancient wisdom screamed for me to run, to claw and tear and drag myself away from this horrific evil before it could destroy everything I loved. My knuckles whitened as I fought to regain my composure, forcing down the entirely rational reaction.

Naime's expression was decidedly no longer cheery or teasing. She must have seen the look in my eyes as I flinched away from my memory of her real face. Her usually musical voice was harsh and cold. "The Lady wishes to see you, immediately." Charlie hovered next to me, watching Naime with undisguised disgust. Before I had looked on her, Charlie and I had both been under the impression Naime was a Sidhe. Powerful, treacherous, but still a known quantity. Now we both shuddered at the mere thought of her. After all, the spirit saw everything I saw.

With a brutal swipe of the hand, she opened a Way to the Nevernever. I peered through cautiously. Waltzing into Faerie like the wind was stupid on any level. The clearing Naime's door opened onto seemed safe enough, but I flicked my newest scepter clear of its holster inside my sleeve nonetheless, fingers automatically curling around the comforting steel.

I stepped through the portal slowly, eyes darting around rapidly as I searched for threats. The small clearing was revealed to actually be more of a glade, surrounded on all sides by ancient trees. They loomed a little more than one would expect, and the whole area resonated with a sense of being unwelcome. The very air seemed to resist being pulled into my throat.

I was about a second from hightailing it back to Earth, Morrigan be damned, when Naime stepped in after me and sealed the Way shut. I could always tear my own, but open defiance on that level would be suicidal. If I had just turned around, I could have always claimed that I thought Naime was leading me into a trap, I suppose.

My fears ended up being unfounded. The fae just rolled her eyes dramatically and glared around at the forest. "He's with me." Immediately the oppressive feeling pounding down on my mind departed. I swear on my grave some of the trees even swayed back from me slightly.

We walked in silence, Naime leading the way through the forest by either instinct or very reliable memory, as there was no path I could see. I immediately noticed the unnatural quiet. No birds, no wind whispering through the trees, _nothing_. This was The Morrigan's land all right. Silence and trees.

Turning on a dime, Naime faced me. "You know the rules, Stewart." I sighed expansively. Yes, I did indeed know the rules. She waved her hand, and I felt my sight and hearing fall away. It was glamour, easily defeated, but I let it be. I couldn't know where The Morrigan held court. No one could, except for her chief servant. Naime, that is.

A time later, I had no how long or how short; I was in The Lady of Silence's…Barrow? Den? Regardless, Naime undid the glamour covering my senses, and I recognized the place. More importantly, I saw The Morrigan waiting for me in the center of the huge chamber I associated with my transformation.

Three years, give or take. I hadn't been back here since, though The Lady had deigned to occasionally visit me in the mortal realm. I could still see the spot of the ritual, the basin that I knew contained blood and water. I understood rather more than I did, and just the sight of the pedestal it stood on was enough to send shivers down my spine.

I saw Charlie bow out of the corner of my eye, his eyes riveted on the floor. Despite his unease at Her working relationship with myself, Charlie would be forever loyal to The Morrigan. Something about Her loving and killing him during his life had inexplicably compelled his spirit's loyalty. But then, that's Fae for you.

"Jason. Stewart." She said my name slowly, rolling the syllables around as if tasting them. Her attention hit me like a tsunami, and it took all my willpower to simply bow instead of collapsing to the floor in a heap.

"My Lady." I responded tersely, with all the cold I put into my voice without technically being disrespectful. I was afraid, but She needed me more than I needed Her.

One of Her eyebrows rose at my tone of voice. "Dear Cúchulainn, I thought you were teaching the boy manners." It wasn't a question.

The ancient ghost's dark eyes glared at me for a moment before answering. "I cannae teach a man ta go against his nature." I noticed his accent thickening. It always did in Her presence.

The Morrigan descended slowly from the slightly raised dais the basin was kept on. Her bare feet touched the floor gently as she strode towards me. "You are my Chosen, the greatest among my warriors, the first among my servants." Her rapturous eyes were colder than ice. "But I will not allow you to skirt even the knife's edge of disloyalty."

There was no air in my lungs. I frowned in dumbfounded confusion and took a breath. Nothing. Befuddled thinking morphed into realization. This was a lesson, both of metaphors and literal truths.

My lungs burned for a breath, and black began to crowd into my vision. The Morrigan padded closer as I struggled to remain standing still. Charlie's eyes were worried, his fingers nervously running through long red hair. He understood harsh lessons all too well, but he had his own agenda for my loyalties. Too much pressure from The Morrigan could, in his eyes, turn me away from his goals.

I choked on more perfectly good oxygen for a minute more, and just when I thought I was going to pass into unconsciousness, The Morrigan waved one hand and I felt the burn in my chest relieved. "Point taken, my Lady."

She smiled beatifically. "Good. See to it that you do not forget again." I shuddered and drew my coat in tighter around me. "I have work for you, Chosen."


End file.
